The poet names his burial-stead. That string is frayed by long-stilled hands. And few, I guess, have the bed Their half-forgotten verse demands. To worn string and futile plea Listen awhile: when I am dead After all, bury me Underneath an Apple Tree. Underneath an Apple Tree -- Let the grim roots work their will -- Grip, suck, strain, distil. The debtor's body for the debt, For all the happily heavy score Of many a revel, against me set Plain on the Orchard Tavern's door. What path of mine but knows my debt? How far apart my cores were thrown! Town, meadow, peak, shore, Road, trail, wayside stone, Hearth, desk, even bed (Shudder, Prissy) knew my needs, And not a core but showed the seeds. Milk and honey, wine and bread! Wherefore, in the Roman way Deal with him who cannot pay -- The debtor's body for the debt: After all, bury me (If that is all, and this is me) Underneath an Apple Tree. There is more, as I think: When I am done with meat and drink Such as beasts have, there shall be Other Apples waiting me No bodiless ghost can eat of them, So I shall haunt my burial-tree Until the first spring-noon is warm: My body's master-essences Shall climb through bole and branch and stem, Slip through soft blossom-throats, and form About me, at command. How far, I wonder, those bright Other Orchards are? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HERO AND LEANDER by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE MY FAMILIAR by JOHN GODFREY SAXE THE CHILD ALONE: 6. BLOCK CITY by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON A SISTER OF SORROW: 1. UP THE ROAD by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |