Opals (Custance)/Love's Firstfruits

by Olive Custance

Love's Firstfruits

 

"As the sweet-apple blushes on the end of bough, the very end of the bough, which the gatherers overlooked, nay overlooked not, but could not reach."—Sappho.

 

I bring to thee the fruitage of first love!The flower but faintly touched with passion's pinkPushed forth, untended, t'was a fragile thingTo fight alone with all the fears of life!And yet it grew expanding day by day,Each petal pure as sun-soft summer airPressed forward to the perfect Fane of LoveThat fronted it. For Love was king and light—The only king that fair faint blossom knew! And so it flourished—till at last it fellAnd the fruit framed in girlhood's life of leavesHung warm and sweet, flushed crimson from the sunOf girlhood's Summer, so the Autumn cameAnd with it came a Gatherer strong and boldWho raised a longing hand to reach it down,That little fruit of love—but it out-soaredThat long lithe arm, and so the Gatherer shookThe slender green-girt stem until at lastLoosed from its hold Love's firstfruit dropped to him.. . . So my heart's harvest has been yielded upA rapturous, speechless sacrifice to thee!