The door of Heaven open seemed

And in thy house the sunlight gleamed.

As through the garden’s willow’d walks I hied

Full many a tree and blossom I espied.

But of all trees, the Apple Tree most fair

And beautiful did unto me appear.

It sobbed and wept. Its leaves said murmuringly:

“I would that God had ne’er created me!

The badge of sin and wickedness I am

E’en at thy feast, O Father Abraham.1

The apple growing on me first

From Eden came ere it was cursed,

Alas, alas, I am undone!

Why fell I to that evil one?”