On a Youth Who Died of Excessive Fruit-Pie

From Harper's New Monthly Magazine (1852)

. . . As we are nigh upon the season of immature fruits, it may not be amiss to give, as a "solemn warning," the following touching

Currants have checked the current of my blood,

And berries brought me to be buried here;

Pears have pared off my body's hardihood,

And plums and plumbers spare not one so spare:

Fain would I feign my fall; so fair a fare

Lessens not fate, but 'tis a lesson good:

Gilt will not long hide guilt; such thin-washed ware

Wears quickly, and its rude touch soon is rued.

Grave on my grave some sentence grave and terse,

That lies not, as it lies upon my clay;

But in a gentle strain of unstrained verse,

Prays all to pity a poor patty's prey;

Rehearses I was fruit-full to my hearse,

Tells that my days are told, and soon I'm toll'd away!