LIKE the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough, A-top on the topmost twig,-- which the pluckers forgot, somehow,-- Forgot it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it till now. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOHN BARLEYCORN by ROBERT BURNS SEVEN TIMES FOUR [ - MATERNITY] by JEAN INGELOW PEEWEE by ALFRED FRANCIS KREYMBORG APRIL, FR. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AMERICA by SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 96 by ALFRED TENNYSON |