Page:The complete poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar.pdf/48

  And twinkles to the moon afar
 * Across the heaven's graying space,

Low murmurs reach me from the town, As Day puts on her sombre crown, And shakes her mantle darkly down.  

's a memory keeps a-run-nin'
 * Through my weary head to-night,

An' I see a picture dancin'
 * In the fire-flames' ruddy light;

'Tis the picture of an orchard
 * Wrapped in autumn's purple haze,

With the tender light about it
 * That I loved in other days.

An' a-standin' in a corner
 * Once again I seem to see

The verdant leaves an' branches
 * Of an old apple-tree.

You perhaps would call it ugly,
 * An' I don't know but it's so,

When you look the tree all over
 * Unadorned by memory's glow;

For its boughs are gnarled an' crooked,
 * An' its leaves are gettin' thin,

An' the apples of its bearin'
 * Wouldn't fill so large a bin

As they used to. But I tell you,
 * When it comes to pleasin' me,

It's the dearest in the orchard,—
 * Is that old apple-tree.

I would hide within its shelter,
 * Settlin' in some cosy nook,

Where no calls nor threats could stir me
 * From the pages o' my book,

Oh, that quiet, sweet seclusion
 * In its fulness passeth words!

It was deeper than the deepest
 * That my sanctum now affords.

Why, the jaybirds an' the robins,
 * They was hand in glove with me,

As they winked at me an' warbled
 * In that old apple-tree,

It was on its sturdy branches
 * That in summers long ago

I would tie my swing an' dangle
 * In contentment to an' fro,

Idly dreamin' childish fancies,
 * Buildin' castles in the air,

Makin' o' myself a hero
 * Of romances rich an' rare.

I kin shet my eyes an' see it
 * Jest as plain as plain kin be,

That same old swing a-danglin'
 * To the old apple-tree.

There's a rustic seat beneath it
 * That I never kin forget.

It's the place where me an' Hallie—
 * Little sweetheart—used to set,

