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 and haunting 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.
It almost seems as if the speaker is asking for permission or waiting for acceptance from the person she is speaking to.  It seems as if the whole time she was talking about the white currants, she was actually talking about herself.  When she says, “You may find them tart, or sweet, or merely agreeable in colour,” it is like she is saying, “no matter what you think of me, just accept me as I am.”
White Currants