 | The wind in the trees |  |
69
APPLES
All day in a green bower I sit,
Ripe apples drop about my feet,
Ripe apples drop about my head,
And in my very lap are shed.
Ripe apples drop about my feet,
Ripe apples drop about my head,
And in my very lap are shed.
Hither is blown no city chime,
The falling apples mark the time,
For every minute one falls down.
Thud! there's another minute flown.
The falling apples mark the time,
For every minute one falls down.
Thud! there's another minute flown.
The rosy, smiling, sunburnt faces,
They have their bed in the sweet grasses,
Like children's heads that sisterly
Upon the same soft pillow lie.
They have their bed in the sweet grasses,
Like children's heads that sisterly
Upon the same soft pillow lie.
70
Here are Heartsease and Honesty,
And Honeysuckle for the bee,
And Love-in-Idleness to stand
And keep the gates on either hand.
And Honeysuckle for the bee,
And Love-in-Idleness to stand
And keep the gates on either hand.
The air is rich with apple-scent,
Yet since no mortal lot's content,
The apple-loving wasp is given
To trouble my terrestrial heaven.
Yet since no mortal lot's content,
The apple-loving wasp is given
To trouble my terrestrial heaven.
| The wind in the trees | |