Classic Poem

Within the orchard's many shadows,
Flitting softly round our feet,
While burning hot, the sunlight shot
Between them in the summer heat;
We went, at times, by dock-leaves, falling
Limp, beside the mossy walling.

The way from garden into orchard
Through an arched gateway led,
Where rose a dovecote up above
The grey old arch, above the head,
By flower-beds of the oldest fashion,
Sweet with rose and red carnation.

There spreading trees of mossy oldness,
This and that way leaning lay;
And others, young and upright, sprung
For year-stunn'd old ones cast away;
Within a thorny hedge that girded
Ground, and tree bough, many birded.

There shone the boughs, in May's gay sunshine,
Out in blooth as white's a sheet;
Or else their flowers fell in showers
Softly down about their feet;
Or else they nodded, many-appled,
Green, or lastly ruddy-dappled.

And then the time of apple-taking
Came, and apples pattered down
Below the trees, in twos and threes,
Full thick; and yellow, red, and brown,
To folks that filled, from baskets by them,
Bags as full as they could tie them.