POETRY: A Magazine of Verse
POMEGRANATE
Pomegranate, how prodigal
Is the hour of your giving!
The apple-nymph baths, content
To apportion her tribute—
Blossoms and incense to Spring,
Substance to Fall;
But you—you lift up
In one riotous offering
The fruit with the flower,
Moons interclustered with stars.
Dryad, impulsive or vain,
Is it fervor or weakness?
Who can dazzle Apollo!
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