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The apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowledge
By woman were pluck'd, and she still wears the prize
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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,
Oh! happy are the apples when the south winds blow.
Oh! happy are the apples when the south winds blow.
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.
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
A-top on the topmost twig--which the pluckers forgot, somehow--
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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.
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.
And what is more melancholy than the old apple-trees that linger
about the spot where once stood a homestead, read more
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.
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!
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?