And what is more melancholy than the old apple-trees that linger
about the spot where once stood a homestead, but where there is
now only a ruined chimney rising our of a grassy and weed-grown
cellar? They offer their fruit to every wayfarer--apples that
are bitter-sweet with the moral of times vicissitude.
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Oh! happy are the apples when the south winds blow.
Oh! happy are the apples when the south winds blow.
The apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowledge
By woman were pluck'd, and she still wears the prize
read more
The apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowledge
By woman were pluck'd, and she still wears the prize
To tempt us in theatre, senate, or college--
I mean the love-apples that bloom in the eyes.
- Horace Smith and James Smith,
What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's read more
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 pours
Its 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.
Like Dead Sea fruit that tempts the eye,
But turns to ashes on the lips!
Like Dead Sea fruit that tempts the eye,
But turns to ashes on the lips!
To satisfy the sharp desire I had
Of tasting those fair apples, I resolv'd
Not to defer; read more
To satisfy the sharp desire I had
Of tasting those fair apples, I resolv'd
Not to defer; hunger and thirst at once
Powerful persuaders, quicken'd at the scent
Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen.
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
A-top on the topmost twig--which the pluckers forgot, somehow--
read more
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
A-top on the topmost twig--which the pluckers forgot, somehow--
Forgot it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it till
now.
Art thou the topmost apple
The gathers could reach,
Reddening on the bough?
Shall read more
Art thou the topmost apple
The gathers could reach,
Reddening on the bough?
Shall I not take thee?
The Blossoms and leaves in plenty
From the apple tree fall each day;
The merry breezes approach read more
The Blossoms and leaves in plenty
From the apple tree fall each day;
The merry breezes approach them,
And with them merrily play.
