Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/266



were four apples on the bough, Half gold half red, that one might know The blood was ripe inside the core; The colour of the leaves was more Like stems of yellow corn that grow Through all the gold June meadow’s floor.

The warm smell of the fruit was good To feed on, and the split green wood, With all its bearded lips and stains Of mosses in the cloven veins, Most pleasant, if one lay or stood In sunshine or in happy rains.

There were four apples on the tree, Red stained through gold, that all might see The sun went warm from core to rind; The green leaves made the summer blind In that soft place they kept for me With golden apples shut behind.