CROPS AND PROFITS 



When the children say with a shout, — "The 

 blackberries are ripe!" I know they are black 

 only, and I can wait. 



When the children report — "The birds are 

 eating the berries," I know I can still wait. 

 But when they say — "The bees are on the ber- 

 ries," I know they are in full ripeness. 



Then, with baskets we sally out; I taking 

 the middle rank, and the children the outer 

 spray of boughs. Even now we gather those 

 only which drop at the touch ; these, in a brim- 

 ming saucer, with golden Alderney cream, and 

 a soupgon of powdered sugar, are Olympian 

 nectar; they melt before the tongue can meas- 

 ure their full roundness, and seem to be mere 

 bloated bubbles of forest honey. 



There is a scratch here and there, which calls 

 from the children a half-scream; but a big 

 berry on the lip cures the smart; and for my- 

 self, if the thorns draggle me, I rather fancy 

 the rough caresses, and repeat with the garden 

 poet^ (humming it half aloud) : 



Bind me, ye woodbines, in your twines; 

 Curl me about, ye gadding vines; 

 And oh! so close your circles lace, 

 That I may never leave this place; 



* Andrew Marvell. 



