THE OLD APPLE-TREE
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here's a memory keeps a-runnin'Through my weary head to-night,An' I see a picture dancin'In the fire-flames' ruddy light;'Tis the picture of an orchardWrapped in autumn's purple haze,With the tender light about itThat I loved in other days.An' a-standin' in a cornerOnce again I seem to seeThe verdant leaves an' branchesOf an old apple-tree. You perhaps would call it ugly,An' I don't know but it's so,When you look the tree all overUnadorned by memory's glow;For its boughs are gnarled an' crooked,An' its leaves are gettin' thin,An' the apples of its bearin'Would n't fill so large a binAs they used to. But I tell you,When it comes to pleasin' me,It's the dearest in the orchard,--Is that old apple-tree. I would hide within its shelter,Settlin' in some cosy nook,Where no calls nor threats could stir meFrom the pages o' my book.Oh, that quiet, sweet seclusionIn its fulness passeth words!It was deeper than the deepestThat my sanctum now affords.Why, the jaybirds an' the robins,They was hand in glove with me,As they winked at me an' warbledIn that old apple-tree. It was on its sturdy branchesThat in summers long agoI would tie my swing an' dangleIn contentment to an' fro,Idly dreamin' childish fancies,Buildin' castles in the air,Makin' o' myself a heroOf romances rich an' rare.I kin shet my eyes an' see itJest as plain as plain kin be,That same old swing a-danglin'To the old apple-tree. There's a rustic seat beneath itThat I never kin forget.It's the place where me an' Hallie--Little sweetheart--used to set,When we 'd wander to the orchardSo 's no listenin' ones could hearAs I whispered sugared nonsenseInto her little willin' ear.Now my gray old wife is Hallie,An' I 'm grayer still than she,But I 'll not forget our courtin''Neath the old apple-tree. Life for us ain't all been summer,But I guess we 'we had our shareOf its flittin' joys an' pleasures,An' a sprinklin' of its care.Oft the skies have smiled upon us;Then again we 've seen 'em frown,Though our load was ne'er so heavyThat we longed to lay it down.But when death does come a-callin',This my last request shall be,--That they 'll bury me an' Hallie'Neath the old apple tree.
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