TO A SNOW-COVERED APPLE TREE 2/1
��TO A SNOW-COVERED APPLE TREE.
Poor trunk, half hid in snowy wreath,
So late my favorite tree. When your red-fruited boughs beneath
I rested carelessly —
How mournfully the howling blast,
This desolated scene, And that cold, icy cowl, contrast
With days when you were green !
Here plucked I the first flowers of spring.
Here took my summer's nap, Whilst you in playfulness would fling
Your apples in my lap,
Or with a sudden whisper break
The sleep that bound too long, When cuckoos through the groves would wake
Their rain-foretelling song.
And here, through autumn's golden hours,
You've cast your ripened store. And, ere half gathered, with new showers
Would still give more and more.
And oft, to make dull days rejoice.
With tales the time you'd cheer ; And still more lively grew your voice,
As winter grew more near.
And when October, clear and cold. Had chilled my grassy seat.
�� �
