10
POEMS.
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson beast,Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest; We plant, upon the sunny lea,A shadow for the noontide hour,A shelter from the summer shower, When we plant the apple tree.
What plant we in this apple tree?Sweets for a hundred flowery springs,To load the May-wind's restless wings,When, from the orchard row, he poursIts fragrance through our open doors; A world of blossoms for the bee,Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, We plant with the apple tree.
What plant we in this apple tree?Fruits that shall swell in sunny June,And redden in the August noon,
