I did not pluck at all,
And I am sorry now :
The garden is not barred
But the boughs are heavy with snow,
The flake-blossoms thickly fall
And the hid roots sigh, 'How long will our flowers be marred ?'
Strange as a bird were dumb,
Strange as a hueless leaf.
As one deaf hungers to hear,
Or gazes without belief,
The fruit yearned 'Fingers, come !'
0, shut hands, be empty another year.
First Fruit
Isaac Rosenberg
(1)
Poem topics: snow, sorry, bird, fruit, long, hear, garden, year, heavy, belief, strange, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
About First Fruit
First Fruit is a poem by Isaac Rosenberg. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
Write your comment about First Fruit poem by Isaac Rosenberg
Best Poems of Isaac Rosenberg