Poems (Hoffman)/The Orchard Call

by Martha Lavinia Hoffman

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.