The Potato - George Markham Tweddell

The Potato.
Pretty thy purple flowers, with disks of gold,
Common Potato! eke beautiful to me
Are those of each improved variety,
In white and gold. And I strongly hold
That murder’d Walter Raleigh gave untold 5
Riches to Britain and the Emerald Isle
(Though Cobbett on the tubors spit his bile)
In introducing what plain, dale, and wold
Now for the people wields much loads of food.
Could the Potato now from us be ta’en, 10
And every other vegetable remain,
How infinite our loss!—though all are good,
Each in its proper place, fruits, roots, and grain,
Live the Potato long as earth has sun and rain.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers, p. 69]