Apple Blossoms.

A poem by Hattie Howard

Of all the lovely blossoms
That decorate the trees,
And shower down their petals
With every breath of breeze,
There is nothing so sweet or fair to me
As the delicate blooms of the apple tree.

A thousand shrubs and flow'rets
Delicious pleasure bring,
But beautiful Pomona
Must be the queen of spring;
And out of her flagon the peach and pear
Their chalices fill with essence rare.

Oh, is it any wonder,
Devoid of blight or flaw,
The peerless blooms of Eden
Our primal mother saw
In redolent beauty before her placed
So tempted fair Eve the fruit to taste?

But woman's love of apples,
Involving fearful price,
And Adam's love for woman
That cost him Paradise,
By the labor of hands and sweat of brow,
Have softened the curse to a blessing now.

If so those pink-eyed glories,
In fields and orchards gay
Develop luscious fruitage
By Horticulture's way,
Then, sweet as the heart of rich legumes,
Shall luxury follow the apple blooms.

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