  Of all the lovely blossoms That decorate the trees, And shower down their petals With every breath of breeze, There is nothing so sweet or fair to me As the delicate blooms of the apple tree. A thousand shrubs and flow'rets Delicious pleasure bring, But beautiful Pomona Must be the queen of spring; And out of her flagon the peach and pear Their chalices fill with essence rare. Oh, is it any wonder, Devoid of blight or flaw, The peerless blooms of Eden Our primal mother saw In redolent beauty before her placed So tempted fair Eve the fruit to taste? But woman's love of apples, Involving fearful price, And Adam's love for woman That cost him Paradise, Have softened the curse to a blessing now. If so those pink-eyed glories, In fields and orchards gay Develop luscious fruitage By Horticulture's way, Then, sweet as the heart of rich legumes, Shall luxury follow the apple blooms. |
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