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The time of apple blooms has come again,
And drowsy winds are laden with perfume;
In village street, in grove and sheltered glen
The happy warblers set the air atune.
Each swaying motion of the bud-sweet trees
Scatters pale, fragrant petals everywhere;
Reveals the tempting nectar cups to bees
That gild their thighs with pollen. Here and there
The cunning spoilers roam, and dream and sip
The honey-dew from chalices of gold;
The brimming cups are drained from lip to lip
Till, cloyed with sweets, the tiny gauze wings fold.
Above the vine-wreathed porch the old trees bend,
Shaking their beauty down like drifted snow:
And as we gaze, the lovely blossoms send
Fair visions of the days of long ago.
Yes, apple blossom time has come again,
But still the breezes waft the perfumes old,
And everywhere in wood, and field, and glen
The same old life appears in lovelier mold.
--NORA A. PIPER.
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