de Vries, Peter (1910-)
'Come live with me and be my love,' He said, in substance. 'There's no vine We will not pluck the clusters of, Or grape we will not turn to wine.' It's autumn of their second year. Now he, in seasonal pursuit, With rich and modulated cheer, Brings home the festive purple fruit; And she, by passion once demented --That woman out of Botticelli-- She brews and bottles, unfermented, The stupid and abiding jelly.