Apple Song

O the sun has kissed the apples,
Kissed the apples;
And the apples, hanging mellow,
Red and yellow,
All down the orchard seen
Make a glory in the green.

The sun has kissed the apples,
Kissed the apples;
And the hollow barrels wait
By the gate.
The cider-presses drip
With nectar for the lip.

The sun has kissed the apples,
Kissed the apples;
And the yellow miles of grain
Forget the rain.
The happy gardens yet
The winter’s blight forget.

The sun has kissed the apples,
Kissed the apples;
O’er the marsh the cattle spread,
White and red.
The sky is all as blue
As a gentian in the dew.

The sun has kissed the apples,
Kissed the apples;
And the maples are ablaze
Through the haze.
The crickets in their mirth
Fife the fruiting song of earth.

The sun has kissed the apples,
Kissed the apples;
Now with flocking call and stir
Birds confer,
As if their hearts were crost
By a fear of coming frost.

O the sun has kissed the apples,
Kissed the apples;
And the harvest air is sweet
On the wheat.
Delight is not for long,--
Give us laughter, give us song!