Classic Poem

BARBERRY .

Now Fate preserve thee — lady fair! —
I will not breathe the Frenchman's prayer,
Who to the maiden's great alarm,
Exclaimed: " God pickle you, madame! "
But " Fate preserve thee! " — even as they,
Our housewives notable, allay,
With sugared sweets, an acid juice,
And store it up for future use; —
So " Fate preserve thee , " or thou'lt stay,
Unplucked, upon the parent-tree;
Like barberries only fit to be
Packed in a gallipot away;
Unless thy sharpness be effaced,
Thou'rt far too sour to suit my taste .