A dreamy languor lapsed along,
And stirred the dusky-bannered boughs;
With half a sigh and half a song
The crooning tree did nod and drowse,
While far aloft blush-tinted hung
One perfect apple maiden-sweet,
At which the gatherers vainly flung,
And could not get to hoard or eat.
“Reddest and best,” they growled and went
Slowly away, each with his load