 | The high-top sweeting And Other Poems |  |
1
THE HIGH-TOP SWEETING.
Tallest of all the orchard trees,
Its boughs the greensward meeting,
Shading with greenest of canopies
The meadow bars, and the stand of bees,
It stood, with an air of sturdy ease,
As if it had waved for centuries,
Bounteous queen of the fruitful leas;
And the apples it swung in the sun and breeze
Might rival the fair Hesperides',—
The dear old high-top sweeting!
Its boughs the greensward meeting,
Shading with greenest of canopies
The meadow bars, and the stand of bees,
It stood, with an air of sturdy ease,
As if it had waved for centuries,
Bounteous queen of the fruitful leas;
And the apples it swung in the sun and breeze
Might rival the fair Hesperides',—
The dear old high-top sweeting!
Lovely it was when its blossoms came
To answer the bluebird's greeting;
They were dainty and white as a maiden's fame,
And pink as the flush of tender shame
That lights her cheek at her lover's name;
And the place was bright with the rosy flame
Of the beautiful high-top sweeting.
To answer the bluebird's greeting;
They were dainty and white as a maiden's fame,
And pink as the flush of tender shame
That lights her cheek at her lover's name;
And the place was bright with the rosy flame
Of the beautiful high-top sweeting.
2
Smiling up to the smiling day,
A marvel of bloom and sweetness,
Just one bountiful, vast bouquet,
The pride and glory of later May,
No brush could paint it, no pen portray
Its perfect and rare completeness,
A marvel of bloom and sweetness,
Just one bountiful, vast bouquet,
The pride and glory of later May,
No brush could paint it, no pen portray
Its perfect and rare completeness,
When down in the cedar-swamp, the crow
Cawed to his croaking neighbor,
And, scoring the furrows to and fro,
With the heavy oxen, strong and slow,
Where later the ribboned corn would grow,—
While the redbreast followed in every row,
To hapless earth-worms a keen-eyed foe,—
The noisy ploughman cried, “Whoa-hishe-whoa!
Back, now, steady! haw, Bright! haw, Snow!”
Or whistled to cheer his labor.
Cawed to his croaking neighbor,
And, scoring the furrows to and fro,
With the heavy oxen, strong and slow,
Where later the ribboned corn would grow,—
While the redbreast followed in every row,
To hapless earth-worms a keen-eyed foe,—
The noisy ploughman cried, “Whoa-hishe-whoa!
Back, now, steady! haw, Bright! haw, Snow!”
Or whistled to cheer his labor.
The delicate petals faded slow,
Their annual doom repeating;
And the sprouting grass, and the path below,
Were covered white with their fragrant snow,
Dancing and drifting to and fro;
And almost ere they had vanished, lo!
The tiny apples began to grow
On the boughs of the high-top sweeting.
Their annual doom repeating;
And the sprouting grass, and the path below,
Were covered white with their fragrant snow,
Dancing and drifting to and fro;
And almost ere they had vanished, lo!
The tiny apples began to grow
On the boughs of the high-top sweeting.
3
Scarcely the curious sun peered through,
In his hottest summer beating,
The heavy branches, so thick they grew;
We children played there, from dawn till dew,
Laughing and romping, a merry crew;
And if it rained, or a hail-storm blew,
Sheltered beneath it, we hardly knew;
And the sods were worn, and the wind-falls few
Under the high-top sweeting.
In his hottest summer beating,
The heavy branches, so thick they grew;
We children played there, from dawn till dew,
Laughing and romping, a merry crew;
And if it rained, or a hail-storm blew,
Sheltered beneath it, we hardly knew;
And the sods were worn, and the wind-falls few
Under the high-top sweeting.
The pleasant sounds of the rural day,—
The crunch of the cattle eating,
In the barn near by, their noon-time hay;
The waiting horse's impatient neigh;
The catbird's call from the maple spray;
The sparrow warbling his roundelay;
The swallow's chirp from its nest of clay
Under the rafters; and far away,
The throb of the saw-mill, old and gray,
And the river's song, as it sought the bay,—
We heard them all, in our happy play
Under the high-top sweeting:
The crunch of the cattle eating,
In the barn near by, their noon-time hay;
The waiting horse's impatient neigh;
The catbird's call from the maple spray;
The sparrow warbling his roundelay;
The swallow's chirp from its nest of clay
Under the rafters; and far away,
The throb of the saw-mill, old and gray,
And the river's song, as it sought the bay,—
We heard them all, in our happy play
Under the high-top sweeting:
The mournful lowing of mother-cows,
And the weanling calf's entreating
From the paddock near, where he learned to browse;
The cackle of fowls among the mows;
The small soft talk from the martin-house;
The pigeon, cooing his tender vows
Beside his gentle and constant spouse;
And the singing wind in the swaying boughs
Of the dear old high-top sweeting.
And the weanling calf's entreating
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The cackle of fowls among the mows;
The small soft talk from the martin-house;
The pigeon, cooing his tender vows
Beside his gentle and constant spouse;
And the singing wind in the swaying boughs
Of the dear old high-top sweeting.
Many a playmate came to share
The sports of our merry meeting:
Zigzag butterflies, many a pair,
Doubled and danced in the sunny air;
The yellow wasp was a visitor there;
The cricket chirped from his grassy lair;
Even the squirrel would sometimes dare
Look down upon us, with curious stare;
The bees plied fearless their honeyed care
Almost beside us, nor seemed aware
Of human presence; and when the glare
Of day was done, and the eve was fair,
The fireflies glimmered everywhere,
Like diamond-sparkles in beauty's hair,
In the boughs of the high-top sweeting.
The sports of our merry meeting:
Zigzag butterflies, many a pair,
Doubled and danced in the sunny air;
The yellow wasp was a visitor there;
The cricket chirped from his grassy lair;
Even the squirrel would sometimes dare
Look down upon us, with curious stare;
The bees plied fearless their honeyed care
Almost beside us, nor seemed aware
Of human presence; and when the glare
Of day was done, and the eve was fair,
The fireflies glimmered everywhere,
Like diamond-sparkles in beauty's hair,
In the boughs of the high-top sweeting.
5
The humming-bird, with his gem-bright eye,
Paused there, to sip the clover,
Or whizzed like a rifle-bullet by;
The katydid, with its rasping dry,
Made forever the same reply,
Which laughing voices would still deny;
And the beautiful four-winged dragon-fly
Darted among us, now low, now high,
And we sprang aside with a startled cry,
Fearing the fancied savagery
Of the harmless and playful rover.
Paused there, to sip the clover,
Or whizzed like a rifle-bullet by;
The katydid, with its rasping dry,
Made forever the same reply,
Which laughing voices would still deny;
And the beautiful four-winged dragon-fly
Darted among us, now low, now high,
And we sprang aside with a startled cry,
Fearing the fancied savagery
Of the harmless and playful rover.
The flying grasshopper clacked his wings,
Like castanets gayly beating;
The toad hopped by us, with jolting springs;
The yellow spider that spins and swings
Swayed on its ladder of silken strings;
The shy cicada, whose noon-voice rings
So piercing-shrill that it almost stings
The sense of hearing, and all the things
Which the fervid northern summer brings,—
The world that buzzes and crawls and sings,—
Were friends of the high-top sweeting.
Like castanets gayly beating;
The toad hopped by us, with jolting springs;
The yellow spider that spins and swings
Swayed on its ladder of silken strings;
The shy cicada, whose noon-voice rings
So piercing-shrill that it almost stings
The sense of hearing, and all the things
Which the fervid northern summer brings,—
The world that buzzes and crawls and sings,—
Were friends of the high-top sweeting.
The balsam lifted its coronal
Of jewels, so fair and fleeting,
Worn as ear-drops, by damsels small,
At many a mimic festival;
And in late summer and early fall,
The gay rudbeckia nodded, to call
The bumblebee to her banquet-hall,
And golden-rod grew yellow and tall,
'Mid purple asters, more fair than all,
With the raspberry-briers, by the old stone wall
Close by the high-top sweeting.
Of jewels, so fair and fleeting,
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At many a mimic festival;
And in late summer and early fall,
The gay rudbeckia nodded, to call
The bumblebee to her banquet-hall,
And golden-rod grew yellow and tall,
'Mid purple asters, more fair than all,
With the raspberry-briers, by the old stone wall
Close by the high-top sweeting.
Late in August, the gracious sun,
His pleasant task completing,
Smiled at the work so nearly done,
And reddened the apple-cheeks, every one,
With ripening kisses; and then begun
Was the feast of the high-top sweeting.
His pleasant task completing,
Smiled at the work so nearly done,
And reddened the apple-cheeks, every one,
With ripening kisses; and then begun
Was the feast of the high-top sweeting.
The fruit, with its flavor wild and sweet,
Was fit for a dryad's eating;
Scores of children, with eager feet,
Flocked beneath it, to pluck and eat;
And all the folk from the village street
Paused in passing, to taste the treat
Of the generous high-top sweeting.
Was fit for a dryad's eating;
Scores of children, with eager feet,
Flocked beneath it, to pluck and eat;
And all the folk from the village street
Paused in passing, to taste the treat
Of the generous high-top sweeting.
7
And now, is the tree that loved us so,
Its summer tale repeating?
Or was its beautiful head laid low
By levelling tempests, long ago?
I cannot answer; but only know
That spring and summer will follow snow,
As changing seasons like billows flow,
But never another tree can grow
So fair as the high-top sweeting!
Its summer tale repeating?
Or was its beautiful head laid low
By levelling tempests, long ago?
I cannot answer; but only know
That spring and summer will follow snow,
As changing seasons like billows flow,
But never another tree can grow
So fair as the high-top sweeting!
Of the children who played beneath it then,
In the days so bright and fleeting,
Some have vanished from mortal ken
Two brave boys of the nine or ten
Died in a Georgia prison-pen;
One in a Louisiana fen;
One starved, wandering in Darien;
One sleeps safe in her native glen;
The rest are grave-eyed women and men,
Wiser and sadder far than when
They played from sunrise till dark again
Under the high-top sweeting.
In the days so bright and fleeting,
Some have vanished from mortal ken
Two brave boys of the nine or ten
Died in a Georgia prison-pen;
One in a Louisiana fen;
One starved, wandering in Darien;
One sleeps safe in her native glen;
The rest are grave-eyed women and men,
Wiser and sadder far than when
They played from sunrise till dark again
Under the high-top sweeting.
Finer apples may redden and fall
For happy children's eating,
But never a tree so brave and tall
Will grow, as that by the orchard wall,
The dear old tree that we used to call
The loveliest apple-tree of all,—
The marvellous high-top sweeting!
For happy children's eating,
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Will grow, as that by the orchard wall,
The dear old tree that we used to call
The loveliest apple-tree of all,—
The marvellous high-top sweeting!
| The high-top sweeting And Other Poems | |