Before she went from grieving, To where all grief is done, She walked amongst the apple trees That grew in Avalon I am not good at naming names; I am not sure at all, But that it was in Tyre. I know The dusk was at the fall. And through the dwindling of the light, And clear unto the town, Was heard the blunt, rich, huddled sound Of the apples dropping down. Her plaintive long hands at her side, Her head drooped as of old, She was that dwindling of the light, And the bough growing cold. Were I to find those apple-trees, Half-lit, crabbed, slim with dew, In Tarshish or in Babylon, Would I not find her too? For was not all her loveliness Blown dimly down the air, The gentle color of her gown, The sweet dark of her hair? Perhaps. But I am sure of this, That clear unto the town, There will be heard the sound again, Of the apples dropping down. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER PARTING by SARA TEASDALE TO MY DEAR AND LOVING HUSBAND by ANNE BRADSTREET THE CONTRETEMPS by THOMAS HARDY SYSTEM by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE PERSIANS (PERSAE): SALAMIS - MESSENGER by AESCHYLUS |