Poems (Bushnell)/Out of Season

by Frances Louisa Bushnell

V
OUT OF SEASON

A strange thing happened down our way
 Last fall,—the apple trees put out
Their pretty blossoms, just like May,
 And scattered all their pink about.

It gave my tough old soul a start,
 Just as you've seen a warmish breeze
Come loitering out of summer's heart
 And rock and fan the gray old trees.

And 'twasn't but a day or two
 Before I got another shove,
At hearing that old Samuel Drew
 Had gone and got at last in love.

If the old wreck, down off the Cape,
 That years ago one night capsized,
Had floated in, in gallant shape,
 I should not have been more surprised.

But, dear me! if the apple-trees,
 When summer's past, bloom out again
And sweeten every passing breeze,
 Why, what can you expect of men?

A few late birds, up there above,
 Keep calling down, "There's hope for all,
When gray old hearts grow green with love
 And fruit-trees blossom in the fall."

At any rate, one thing is plain:
 That it is quite worth while to wait,
Since not to trees nor yet to men
 Does Heaven like to say, "Too late."