Not in that wasted garden Where bodies are drawn into grass That feeds no flocks, and into evergreens That bear no fruit - There where along the shaded walks Vain sighs are heard, And vainer dreams are dreamed Of close communion with departed souls - But here under the apple tree I loved and watched and pruned With gnarled hands In the long, long years; Here under the roots of this northern-spy To move in the chemic change and circle of life, Into the soil and into the flesh of the tree, And into the living epitaphs Of redder apples! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 9. TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY by JOHN MILTON WHEN SHE COMES HOME by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE by ROBERT SOUTHEY CLERICAL OPPRESSORS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER OFF MESOLONGI by ALFRED AUSTIN LINES TO BE SPOKEN BY THOMAS DENMAN.....WHEN FOUR YEARS OLD by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |