The Old Orchard by Kathleen Dalziel

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All lovely in the latticed dew,
   And heavy with low boughs hoary, 
The apple trees put forth anew
   Their old enchanted glory.

Rose-misted mass and myriad,
   White as a white-cloud's bosom,
The clinging, climbing bees go mad
   Among the trembling blossom.

While from a spire of rosy snow  
   The top-most boughs adorning,
A thrush, half hidden, sings below
   The heavenly blue of morning.

Amid celestial peace, where dross
   Material reckoning falters,
The thrush sings on a budded cross
   At Beauty's very altars .... 

Old trees, so gloriously young,
   Thick petals, thronged with bees,
Have I glimpsed heaven to-day among
   The blossoming apple trees?

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 15 April 1933

Author reference site: Austlit

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on April 15, 2014 8:30 AM.

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