The old orchard, full of smoking air,
Full of sour marsh and broken boughs, is there,
But kept no more by vanished Mulligans,
Or Hartigans, long drowned in earth themselves,
Who gave this bitter fruit their care.
Here's where the cherries grew that birds forgot,
And apples bright as dogstars; now there is not
An apple or a cherry; only grapes,
But wild ones, Isabella grapes they're called,
Small, pointed, black, like boughs of musket-shot.
Eating their flesh, half-savage with black fur.
Acid and gipsy-sweet, I thought of her,
Isabella, the dead girl, who has lingered on
Defiantly when all have gone away,
In an old orchard where swallows never stir.
Isabella grapes, outlaws of a strange bough,
That in their harsh sweetness remind me somehow
Of dark hair swinging and silver pins,
A girl half-fierce, half-melting, as these grapes,
Kissed here –-- or killed here –-- but who remembers now?
SHARED, ONLINE MATRIX
Use the information you've gathered responded to the Guiding Questions to complete a shared, online, ALARM Matrix. Please be considerate of others when using this method; used correctly it is a valuable way to share and improve knowledge. Fill in the gaps where possible to make it a more effective collection tool.
Use the information gathered to respond to the following question(s):
You should respond to these questions using a formal, essay style. Consider one of these scaffolds to help structure the paragraphs in your response.