  The apple harvest days are here, The boding apple harvest days, And down the flaming valley ways, The foresters of time draw near. Through leagues of bloom I went with Spring, To call you on the slopes of morn, Where in imperious song is borne The wild heart of the golden wing. I sought your beauty near and far; To-day, where russet shadows are, I hold your face between my hands. On runnels dark by slopes of fern, The hazy undern sleeps in sun. Remembrance and desire, undone, From old regret to dreams return. The apple harvest time is here, The tender apple harvest time; A sheltering calm, unknown at prime, Settles upon the brooding year.
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