52
THE SONG OF A SUMMER.
THE SONG OF A SUMMER.
PLUCKED an apple from off a tree,Golden and rosy and fair to see,—
The sunshine had fed it with warmth and light,
The dews had freshened it night by night,
And high on the topmost bough it grew,
Where the winds of Heaven about it blew,
And while the mornings were soft and young
The wild birds circled, and soared, and sung,—
There, in the storm and calm and shine,
It ripened and brightened, this apple of mine,
Till the day I plucked it from off the tree,
Golden and rosy and fair to see.
How could I guess 'neath that daintiest rind
That the core of sweetness I hoped to find—
That the core of sweetness I hoped to find—
