When Blackthorn blossoms leap to sight,
They deck the hedge with starry light,
In early Spring
When rough winds blow,
Each promising
A purple sloe.
And now is Autumn here, and lo,
The Blackthorn bears the purple sloe!
But ah, how much
Too sharp these plums,
Until the touch
Of Winter comes!
(The sloe is a wild plum. One bite will set your teeth on edge until it has been mellowed by frost; but it is not poisonous.)