Lines in Pleasant Places Rhythmics of many moods and quantities. Wise and otherwise |
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THE OLD-TIME APPLE-BEE. |
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 | Lines in Pleasant Places |  |
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THE OLD-TIME APPLE-BEE.
Among the pleasing things of the past
That come to me in fond retrocast,
Fraught with the odor and grace of truth,
And bearing the glory and glow of youth,
—The morning light of the early day,
When all was bright, and all was gay,
And my heart beat quick to the notes of glee,—
Is the cheerful and busy apple-bee.
That come to me in fond retrocast,
Fraught with the odor and grace of truth,
And bearing the glory and glow of youth,
—The morning light of the early day,
When all was bright, and all was gay,
And my heart beat quick to the notes of glee,—
Is the cheerful and busy apple-bee.
Ah, happy is the scene I view
In the blaze of memory's light anew,
And merry and fair the circle seen,
In pristine garb and pristine mien,
With bright eyes beauteous in their glow
As in the long, long years ago,
When I, in boyish feeling free,
Found mirth and joy in the apple-bee.
In the blaze of memory's light anew,
And merry and fair the circle seen,
In pristine garb and pristine mien,
With bright eyes beauteous in their glow
As in the long, long years ago,
When I, in boyish feeling free,
Found mirth and joy in the apple-bee.
Cheeks rivalling the apple's blush,
Smiles as tender as morning's flush,
Voices clear as the song of birds,
Tuned to cadence of happy words,
Pleasant gossip of this and that,
Healthful music of earnest chat,
Wisdom, and wit, and melody,
Marked the course of the apple-bee.
Smiles as tender as morning's flush,
Voices clear as the song of birds,
Tuned to cadence of happy words,
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Healthful music of earnest chat,
Wisdom, and wit, and melody,
Marked the course of the apple-bee.
Say not a word of Grecian bends,
Or the added charm that crinoline lends,
Or the waterfall's expanding grace,
Or the wealth of ribbon or of lace,
Or the slender shape of a prisoned waist,
Or the pride of fashion's captious taste—
They none compare with the forms I see
In my vision there of the apple-bee.
Or the added charm that crinoline lends,
Or the waterfall's expanding grace,
Or the wealth of ribbon or of lace,
Or the slender shape of a prisoned waist,
Or the pride of fashion's captious taste—
They none compare with the forms I see
In my vision there of the apple-bee.
There's more revealed than the show of wealth
In the strength and beauty of sturdy health;
More grandeur than if gem-bedight
In radiant eyes' effulgent light;
More grace than chignon e'er has thrown
In rippling locks that are all their own;
And the high back-comb is a crown to me—
Each wearer a queen at the apple-bee.
In the strength and beauty of sturdy health;
More grandeur than if gem-bedight
In radiant eyes' effulgent light;
More grace than chignon e'er has thrown
In rippling locks that are all their own;
And the high back-comb is a crown to me—
Each wearer a queen at the apple-bee.
Severely simple and chastely sweet
Is the dress where prudence and comfort meet;
Where the heart can beat with as glad a glow
As if under silk, in calico,
And 'mid the crush of impending ills
Are ne'er included milliner bills;
And no compunctious throe has she
Who shines as queen of the apple-bee.
Is the dress where prudence and comfort meet;
Where the heart can beat with as glad a glow
As if under silk, in calico,
And 'mid the crush of impending ills
Are ne'er included milliner bills;
And no compunctious throe has she
Who shines as queen of the apple-bee.
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The mirth leaps up when the work is done,
And the carnival reigns of noisy fun;
The old look on in benignant way
To see the very—forfeits to pay—
The culminate of labial joys,
In let-out spirits of girls and boys!
Ah, many a lovelit flame we see
Illuming the scene of the apple-bee.
And the carnival reigns of noisy fun;
The old look on in benignant way
To see the very—forfeits to pay—
The culminate of labial joys,
In let-out spirits of girls and boys!
Ah, many a lovelit flame we see
Illuming the scene of the apple-bee.
The scene fades out in mist of years;
The old-time custom disappears:
Voices are hushed that then were gay;
The golden locks have turned to gray;
The tender eyes, so fair and bright,
Are grandames' now, with failing sight;
And nought is left but a memory
Of the joyous, rollicking apple-bee.
The old-time custom disappears:
Voices are hushed that then were gay;
The golden locks have turned to gray;
The tender eyes, so fair and bright,
Are grandames' now, with failing sight;
And nought is left but a memory
Of the joyous, rollicking apple-bee.
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