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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
So, as I was a sayin'—aye, aye, in the fall
Maybe not so nice; but still the smell
Of the apples—aw dear! they'll do ye! they'll do ye!
Aw, through and through ye! through and through ye!
It's a very lovin' smell is apples—
This stuff the Romans burns in their chapels
Is very sweet! but what is it comparin'
To apples, special goin' a bearin'
In an orchard—all a surt of 'spicion
Of rum things about, like some faery was fishin'
With a smell for a bait—invisible—
Aw, sartinly—but a smell, a smell.
Maybe not so nice; but still the smell
543
Aw, through and through ye! through and through ye!
It's a very lovin' smell is apples—
This stuff the Romans burns in their chapels
Is very sweet! but what is it comparin'
To apples, special goin' a bearin'
In an orchard—all a surt of 'spicion
Of rum things about, like some faery was fishin'
With a smell for a bait—invisible—
Aw, sartinly—but a smell, a smell.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |