Poem October 31, 1901 Issue

Barberries

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

In scarlet clusters o'er the gray stone wall
The barberries lean in thin autumnal air;
Just when the fields and garden plots are bare,
And ere the green leaf takes the tint of fall,
They come to make the eye a festival!
Along the road for miles their torches flare.
Ah, if your deep-sea coral were but rare
(The damask rose might envy it withal)
What bards had sung your praises long ago,
Called you fine names in honey-worded books—
The rosy tramps of turnpike and of lane,
September's blushes, Ceres' lips aglow,
Little Red-Ridinghoods, for your sweet looks!
But your plebeian beauty is in vain.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

Enjoy 1 free Sentinel article or audio program each month, including content from 1898 to today.

Send a comment to the editors
NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Poem
Christ's Anointing
October 31, 1901
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit