 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
XII.
[Six ripe apples grew red on a tree]
Six ripe apples grew red on a tree,
When a little boy came with his bow and his arrows,
Midst the cooing of doves and the chirping of sparrows:
With his bow and his arrows he shot down three:
O, the sweet summer sunshine is bright on the lea,
And sparkles along the meadow.
When a little boy came with his bow and his arrows,
Midst the cooing of doves and the chirping of sparrows:
With his bow and his arrows he shot down three:
O, the sweet summer sunshine is bright on the lea,
And sparkles along the meadow.
Three ripe apples grew red on a tree;
But the little birds came with chirrup and call:
With chirrup and call they ate up them all:
Red apples for them; withered leaflets for me:
For the wintry moon is cold on the lea,
And my heart lies dead in its shadow.
But the little birds came with chirrup and call:
With chirrup and call they ate up them all:
Red apples for them; withered leaflets for me:
For the wintry moon is cold on the lea,
And my heart lies dead in its shadow.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |