Flushed from a fairy flagon My country love and I, Sat by a bush forgetting, Old conscience and his fretting, Just dreaming there and letting Trouble trundle by — Like a dragon Dead on a wagon Drawn against the sky. @3Fol de rol de raly O — Trouble in the sky!@1 She knew it was only a cloud I saw When I pointed out a dangling claw, But she let me say my say; For the day, red-ripe, was a pretty day And she thought my way was a city way. And O I liked her thinking — while each unhindered curl Glinted in the sunlight, hinted of its yellow — That I who spoke to such a girl Was something of a fellow. @3Fol de rol de raly O! Was she really thinking so?@1 There's the tree, I gaily told her, Apples, apples, at our feet! Come, before we're one day older, We shall gather, we shall eat! Now's the time for apple hunger! Not if we were one day younger, Younger, older, shyer, bolder, Would an apple taste so sweet! @3Fol de rol de raly O! Apples at our feet!@1 Bewildered, she was with me on the run Toward the tree that held its treasure to the sun; This, of all the trees of treasure, was the one Condemning leisure And inviting lovely pleasure — She was with me, she was by me on the run, With a cheek that turned its treasure to the sun. @3Fol de rol de raly O! Raly O, we gaily go, Fol —@1 Why should she stop and never speak? Why should the color in her cheek Change, not glowing gay and meek? Deeper, redder than I knew She was mistress of, a hue, Though demurely, Richly, surely Rising in her cheek! @3Fol de rol de raly O! The change in her cheek!@1 There was before us on the ground, Eyes upon us, not a sound, Sat a neighbor's truant child of seven years; Her lap was full of sunny gold, But her eyes in the sun, her eyes were old, Were sober, seeming laden — And such a little maiden — Unawares but laden With some dead woman's tears. @3Fol de rol de raly O! A child of seven years!@1 Some woman who had watched and wept But had not any speech Watched and wept now within that little breast, Caught and caressed Those little hands and would have kept Beyond their reach The anguish in that orchard, The apple-bough unblessed, The brightness that had tortured The heart within the breast. . . . And we beheld, and see it even now, A bent and withered apple-bough Of beauty dispossessed, Which bore its poison long ago. Oh, why we pluck it still we may not know, But only that it leaves no rest To the heart within the breast. @3Fol de rol de raly O! This heart within the breast!@1 Abashed and parting on our ways, We saw that woman's poor dead hand, Ghostly making, its demand, Fall pitiful and sad, . . . We saw the child, forgetful of our gaze, Laughing like any child that plays, And laughs in any land, Lean and touch a toy she had Half hidden in her hand, We saw her pat and poise and raise — An apple in her hand! @3Fol de rol de raly O! The apple in her hand!@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER FROM ITALY by JOSEPH ADDISON THE BLACK FINGER by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE ABYSS by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE LADY AND THE SWINE by MOTHER GOOSE THE MORAL FABLES: THE MOUSE AND THE PADDOCK by AESOP FROM AN OFFICE WINDOW by FRANCES M. BALLARD CHARACTERS: SUSANNAH BARBAULD MARISSAL by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |