White Currants

Shall I give you white currants?I do not know why, but I have a sudden fancy for this fruit.At the moment, the idea of them cherishes my senses,And they seem more desirable than flawless emeralds.Since I am, in fact, empty-handed,I might have chosen gems out of India,But I choose white currants.Is it because the raucous wind is hurtling round the house-corners?I see it with curled lips and stripped fangs, gaunt with a hunting energy,Come to snout, and nibble, and kill the little crocus roots.Shall we call it white currants?You may consider it as a symbol if you please.You may find them tart, or sweet, or merely agreeable in colour,So long as you accept them,And me.