(Sometimes in our mouths, if they were not seen)—
But where are the apples of earlier years?
White watery things from the land of the Yankee,
And sugary shams from the Austral seas,
They sell us—at sixpence per pound! No, thankee!
I have no palate for frauds like these.
There's not an apple that now could please
Poor Eve so much as to waken fears.
Ah, the luscious Pippins youth crunched at ease!
But where are the apples of earlier years?