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What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's read more
What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's restless wings,
When, from the orchard-row, he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;
A world of blossoms for the bee,
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
We plant with the apple tree.
Like Dead Sea fruit that tempts the eye,
But turns to ashes on the lips!
Like Dead Sea fruit that tempts the eye,
But turns to ashes on the lips!
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
A-top on the topmost twig--which the pluckers forgot, somehow--
read more
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
A-top on the topmost twig--which the pluckers forgot, somehow--
Forgot it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it till
now.
To satisfy the sharp desire I had
Of tasting those fair apples, I resolv'd
Not to defer; read more
To satisfy the sharp desire I had
Of tasting those fair apples, I resolv'd
Not to defer; hunger and thirst at once
Powerful persuaders, quicken'd at the scent
Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen.
Oh! happy are the apples when the south winds blow.
Oh! happy are the apples when the south winds blow.
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.
There's plenty of boys that will come hankering and gruvvelling
around when you've got an apple, and beg the read more
There's plenty of boys that will come hankering and gruvvelling
around when you've got an apple, and beg the core off you; but
when they're got one, and you beg for the core, and remind them
how you give them a core one time, they take a mouth at you, and
say thank you 'most to death, but there ain't a-going to be no
core.
The apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowledge
By woman were pluck'd, and she still wears the prize
read more
The apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowledge
By woman were pluck'd, and she still wears the prize
To tempt us in theatre, senate, or college--
I mean the love-apples that bloom in the eyes.
- Horace Smith and James Smith,
