Classic Poem

What plants the man who plants the apple-tree?
The apple-tree, of course! But what beside?
The fatal fruit which tempted Adam's bride,
And brought disgrace on all his family!

What plants the man who plants the apple-tree,
Instead of planting corn, or sowing wheat?
The germs of fruit which he may never eat,
And blossoms which his eye may never see!

What plants the man who plants the apple-tree?
A branch where hornets' nests may yet be hung,
And venturous urchins get severely stung,
By daring to assault the savage bee!

Who plants the apple-tree plants seeds of wind, —
Green-apple colic, and fierce stomach-ache,
And bowel-gripes, which cut, and bind, and rake;
Then turn about and cut, and rake, and bind.

Some future child may move a tuft of grass
Beneath that tree, to pick a pippin fair
Which tempts her with its golden beauty there,
And find a snake coiled round the fruit, alas!

Or, some poor man may trim the apple-tree,
And, getting absent-minded, saw away
The limb on which he stands, some future day,
And break his worthy neck quite suddenly.

Or, piling dried limbs of said apple-tree,
To haste the sluggish pot, some hungry clown
May set the house a-fire, and burn it down,
While hurrying up his dinner, or his tea.

Or some old sot may grind the juicy fruit
To make vile apple-jack, to drink by tuns,
Then kill himself, his wife, and little ones,
In a delirium, — the drunken brute!

This plants the man who plants the apple-tree,
And much beside to mortal ken unknown;
He'd better let the plaguy tree alone,
And smoke his pipe, (he smokes, it seems to me!)