Poems (Hoffman)/The Orchard Call
THE ORCHARD CALL
Come, 'tis the voice of the blue-bird, come to the flowery orchard In her bridal garment dressed,Pink and white cloud-folds swaying, with the sportive sun- beams playing Or frolicsome winds caressed;Come, 'tis the warbler calling, come, 'tis the blossoms falling Promising all the rest.
Delicate little pledges, white with their tinted edges Scented with faint perfume,Or rosy as dawning brightness, or pure in their waxen whiteness, Some in their perfect bloom,Some to pink buds just swelling, some falling, but all foretelling A banquet yet to come.
Come, 'tis the blue-bird screaming, up from the still air teeming With honey and bumble bees,Come from the rush and riot, come to the shady quiet Under the orchard trees;Where through the rainless Summer, each warm and weary comer Is fanned by the gentle breeze.
Come to the banquet waiting, of Dame Nature's own creating Spread in her spacious halls,Come to the garnered sweetness, come to the rich repleteness Brightening her fruitful walls,Come for the viands are wasting, 'tis the voice of the grosbeak tasting The rosy peach, as he calls.
Come to the glowing cherries, come to the bright black-berries Draping the orchard {fence,Come to the apples blushing, come to the nectar flushing The pear's luxuriance;Apricots ripe and yellow, peaches juicy and mellow Plums in their leafy tents.
Come, 'tis the voice of the blue-bird, come to the fruitful orchard Come, 'tis the warbler's song,Come, 'tis the blue-jay calling, come, 'tis the grosbeak trilling The orchard boughs among,Come, 'tis the bees inviting, buzzing, sipping, alighting Midst the feasting, feathered throng.