Song to the Young John
The apple-blossomy king
Is lord of this new Spring;
He is the spirit of young joy,
My little yellow-headed boy.
His eyes are a bluebell wood, set in a boy's head.
His hair the white-gold ghost of sunlight from Springs dead
The pink of apple-blossom is in his bonnie cheeks;
I hear bird-song in sleepy glades, when the king speaks.
He moves like a young larch in a light wind;
His body brings slim budding trees to mind.
How all my senses thrill to the dear treasure,
Till I must weep for sweet excess of pleasure.
The apple-blossomy king
Is lord of this new Spring;
He is the spirit of young joy,
My little yellow-headed boy.
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