An Apple-Gathering

I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple tree
And wore them all that evening in my hair:
Then in due season when I went to see
I found no apples there.
With dangling basket all along the grass
As I had come I went the selfsame track:
My neighbours mocked me while they saw me pass
So empty-handed back.

Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging by,
Their heaped-up basket teazed me like a jeer;
Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sunset sky,
Their mother's home was near.

Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full,
A stronger hand than hers helped it along;
A voice talked with her thro' the shadows cool
More sweet to me than song.

Ah Willie, Willie, was my love less worth
Than apples with their green leaves piled above?
I counted rosiest apples on the earth
Of far less worth than love.

So once it was with me you stooped to talk
Laughing and listening in this very lane:
To think that by this way we used to walk
We shall not walk again!

I let my neighbours pass me, ones and twos
And groups; the latest said the night grew chill,
And hastened: but I loitered, while the dews
Fell fast I loitered still.

by Christina Georgina Rossetti

Comments (9)

Suddenly moving, quietly powerful.
This poem seems both a statement of Victorian sexual mores and a lament over them.
A beautiful poem of love regret.....
To sow into a relationship and lose not only what you have sown but the relationship itself, is so much more palpably painful when you watch the relationships of others bearing fruit. But I will believe she was adorable with those blossoms in her hair.
The good love about the apple tree that gives sweet apples and different thoughts are interesting.
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