Jones Very (1813–1880)

THE BUSH that has most briers and bitter fruit:

Wait till the frost has turned its green leaves red,

Its sweetened berries will thy palate suit,

And thou mayst find e’en there a homely bread.

Upon the hills of Salem scattered wide,

Their yellow blossoms gain the eye in spring;

And, straggling e’en upon the turnpike’s side,

Their ripened branches to your hand they bring.

I’ve plucked them oft in boyhood’s early hour,

That then I gave such name, and thought it true;

But now I know that other fruit as sour

Grows on what now thou callest me and you:

Yet will thou wait, the autumn that I see

Will sweeter taste than these red berries be.