Let others praise the mellow peach,
The luscious grape, the golden pine;
But oh, within my modest reach,
I know a fruit that's more divine.
'Mid fragrant groves of orange flower
Let bridegroom roam! But weave my crown
Of gooseberries that, sweet or sour,
Bloom when the world is out of town!
When silence holds the Lady's Mile,
And daily sheets, grown empty too,
Hail, with a glad and greeting smile
The little earthquake from Peru —
The avalanche — the hot pursuit
Of luggage lost — all things that bore!
Say, what can match the cheery fruit
That blooms till town is full once more!
