Strawberries that in gardens grow br Are plump and juicy fine, br But sweeter far as wise men know br Spring from the woodland vine. br br No need for bowl or silver spoon, br Sugar or spice or cream, br Has the wild berry plucked in June br Beside the trickling stream. br br One such to melt at the tongue's root, br Confounding taste with scent, br Beats a full peck of garden fruit: br Which points my argument. br br May sudden justice overtake br And snap the froward pen, br That old and palsied poets shake br Against the minds of men. br br Blasphemers trusting to hold caught br In far-flung webs of ink, br The utmost ends of human thought br Till nothing's left to think. br br But may the gift of heavenly peace br And glory for all time br Keep the boy Tom who tending geese br First made the nursery rhyme.