NOT in that wasted garden Where bodies are drawn into grass That feeds no flocks, and into evergreens That bear no fruit -- There where along the shaded walks Vain sighs are heard, And vainer dreams are dreamed Of close communion with departed souls -- But here under the apple tree I loved and watched and pruned With gnarled hands In the long, long years; Here under the roots of this northern-spy To move in the chemic change and circle of life, Into the soil and into the flesh of the tree, And into the living epitaphs Of redder apples! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOING FOR WATER by ROBERT FROST DANTE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE POLAR QUEST by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON AELLA: THE MINSTREL'S SONG by THOMAS CHATTERTON CHILD AND MOTHER by EUGENE FIELD THE WARNING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SOME EYES CONDEMN by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS |