Mathilde Blind

Apple-Blossom

    Blossom of the apple trees!
      Mossy trunks all gnarled and hoary,
      Grey boughs tipped with rose-veined glory,
    Clustered petals soft as fleece
    Garlanding old apple trees!

    How you gleam at break of day!
      When the coy sun, glancing rarely,
      Pouts and sparkles in the pearly
    Pendulous dewdrops, twinkling gay
    On each dancing leaf and spray.

    Through your latticed boughs on high,
      Framed in rosy wreaths, one catches
      Brief kaleidoscopic snatches
    Of deep lapis-lazuli
    In the April-coloured sky.

    When the sundown's dying brand
      Leaves your beauty to the tender
      Magic spells of moonlight splendour,
    Glimmering clouds of bloom you stand,
    Turning earth to fairyland.

    Cease, wild winds, O, cease to blow!
      Apple-blossom, fluttering, flying,
      Palely on the green turf lying,
    Vanishing like winter snow;
    Swift as joy to come and go.