The Mongrel

Your Laurel Hedge, with its broad leaves,

Keep fresh and green from year to year;

While that poor Wayside, Mongrel hedge,

In Winter time goes thin and bare.

But when October's in his prime,

How beautiful that Mongrel grows-

Where Blackberry, Thorn and other leaves

Can make a hundred shining hues!

In singles, twins, and triplets too,

In bunch and cluster, high and low,

I see his fruits in heavy folds,

Or fluttering lightly to and fro.

The Apple with her beauty-moles,

The beady Currant, glassy-eyed;

The golden corn, all naked there,

Without a leaf on either side.

The nippled Pear and misty Plum,

The yellow Quince and  Cherry red;

The crimson Strawberry, full of dimples,

Now lying so low in her bed.

Let no man touch the Mongrel now,

Nor dare to pick his fruit, for fear

That Wizard turns his gorgeous feast

To shrivelled leaves, all limp and sere.