Cherry Robbers

Under the long, dark boughs, like jewels red
      In the hair of an Eastern girl
Shine strings of crimson cherries, as if had bled
      Blood-drops beneath each curl.

Under the glistening cherries, with folded wings
      Three dead birds lie:
Pale-breasted throstles and a blackbird, robberlings
      Stained with red dye.

Under the haystack a girl stands laughing at me,
      With cherries hung round her ears—
Offering me her scarlet fruit: I will see
      If she has any tears.