Grapes: Still-Life

Snugly you rest, sweet globes,
Aged essence of the sun;
Copper of the platter
Like that you lie upon.

Is so well your heritage
You need feel no change
From the ringlet of your stem
To this bright rim's flange;

You, green-white Niagara,
Cool dull Nordic of your kind,
Does your thick meat flinch
From these... touch and press your rind?

Caco, there, so close to you,
Is the beauty of the vine;
Stamen red and pistil black
Thru the curving line;

Concord, the too peaceful one,
Purpling at your side,
All the colors of his flask
Holding high in pride...

This, too, is your heritage,
You who force the plight;
Blood and bone you turn to them
For their root is white.