“We sha’n’t have the place to our­selves to en­joy—
Not likely, when all the young Lorens de­ploy.
They’ll be there to­mor­row, or even to-night.
They won’t be too friendly—they may be po­lite—
To peo­ple they look on as hav­ing no right
To pick where they’re pick­ing. But we won’t com­plain.
You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain,
The fruit mixed with wa­ter in lay­ers of leaves,
Like two kinds of jew­els, a vi­sion for thieves.”