Poems (Dorr)/The Apple-Tree
THE APPLE-TREE
Graceful and lithe and tall,It stands by the garden wall,In the flush of its pink-white bloomElate with its own perfume.Tossing its young bright head In the first glad joy of May,While its singing leaves sing back To the bird on the dancing spray."I'm alive! I'm abloom!" it criesTo the winds and the laughing skies.Ho! for the gay young apple-treeThat stands by the garden wall!
Sturdy and broad and tall,Over the garden wallIt spreads its branches wide—A bower on either side.For the bending boughs hang low; And with shouts and gay turmoilThe children gather like bees To garner the golden spoil;While the smiling mother sings,"Rejoice for the gift it brings!Ho! for the laden apple-treeThat stands by our garden wall!"
The strong swift years fly past,Each swifter than the last; And the tree by the garden wallSees joy and grief befall.Still from the spreading boughs Some golden apples swing;But the children come no more For the autumn harvesting.The tangled grass lies deepWhere the long path used to creep;Yet ho! for the brave old apple-treeThat leans o'er the crumbling wall!
Now generations pass,Like shadows on the grass.What is there that remainsFor all their toil and pains?A little hollow place Where once a hearthstone lay;An empty, silent space Whence life hath gone away;Tall brambles where the lilacs grew,Some fennel, and a clump of rue,And this one gnarled old apple-treeWhere once was the garden wall!