Grew close about me. Through black storms of pain
Swayed joyous boughs of rosy apple-bloom;
White blossomed branches of an old plum-tree;
Old grape-vines clinging to a sunny wall;
Great bushes of red currants and raspberries.
Through hours of torturing thirst I found again
That old fruit garden—as if body and soul
Clutched at cool juicy fruits—remembering—
Devouring them through a parched mouth of the brain.
GRAPES