The Orchard.

    There's no garden like an orchard,
    Nature shows no fairer thing
    Than the apple trees in blossom
    In these late days o' the spring.

    Here the robin redbreast's nesting,
    Here, from golden dawn till night,
    Honey bees are gaily swimming
    In a sea of pink and white.

    Just a sea of fragrant blossoms,
    Steeped in sunshine, drenched in dew,
    Just a fragrant breath which tells you
    Earth is fair again and new.

    Just a breath of subtle sweetness,
    Breath which holds the spice o' youth,
    Holds the promise o' the summer -
    Holds the best o' things, forsooth.

    There's no garden like an orchard,
    Nature shows no fairer thing
    Than the apple trees in blossom
    In these late days o' the spring.

Jean Blewett

Jean Blewett was a Canadian author, journalist, and poet. Born in Scotia, Ontario, she became well-known for her poetry and was awarded the part of lyrical poet at the World’s Fair in Chicago, 1893. Her notable works were often published in literary magazines. Besides poetry, Blewett also wrote stories and worked as a journalist, gaining considerable respect in both fields. She passed away in Chatham, Ontario, in 1934. Her legacy remains a significant part of Canadian literary history.

Jean Blewett

Thankfulness.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

Archibald Lampman.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

The Harbor Lights Of Home.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

The Treasure Box.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

English

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Apple Blossoms.

I.

There's the rose and the lily, the daisy and pink,
And many rare flowers which others may think
Are the fairest and best, the sweetest that blow,
With delicious perfume, and colors that glow--
But go to the orchard and sniff the delight
Of the incense that's shed by the pink and the white,
And let the soul float away in a swoon
On the ambient air where the apple trees bloom!


II.

There's the cowslip, narcissus, and sweet mignonette,
The asters, verbenas, the fuschias; and yet,
As much as I love them in Summer array,
It's the white and the pink I dream of to-day,
And I walk 'neath the branches that just interlace
And shower their blossoms right down in my face
When the breeze that is laden with rarest perfume
Is wafted along where...

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Apple Blossoms.

    Of all the lovely blossoms
    That decorate the trees,
    And shower down their petals
    With every breath of breeze,
There is nothing so sweet or fair to me
As the delicate blooms of the apple tree.

    A thousand shrubs and flow'rets
    Delicious pleasure bring,
    But beautiful Pomona
    Must be the queen of spring;
And out of her flagon the peach and pear
Their chalices fill with essence rare.

    Oh, is it any wonder,
    Devoid of blight or flaw,
    The peerless blooms of Eden
    Our primal mother saw
In redolent beauty before her placed
So tempted fair Eve the fruit to taste?

    But woman's love of apples,
    Involving fearful price,
    And Adam's love for woman
    That cost him Paradise,
...

Hattie Howard

When Trees Are Green.

    Would you be glad of heart and good?
    Would you forget life's toil and care?
    Come, lose yourself in this old wood
    When May's soft touch is everywhere.

    The hawthorn trees are white as snow,
    The basswood flaunts its feathery sprays,
    The willows kiss the stream below
    And listen to its flatteries:

    "O willows supple, yellow, green,
    Long have I flowed o'er stock and stone,
    I say with truth I have not seen
    A rarer beauty than your own!"

    The rough-bark hickory, elm, and beech
    With quick'ning thrill and growth are rife;
    Oak, maple, through the heart of each
    There runs a glorious tide of life.

    Fresh leaves, young buds on every hand,
    On trunk and limb a hint of red,
 ...

Jean Blewett

April.

    God's garden is this dim old wood,
    And hidden in its bosom
    The bursting bud, the feathery leaf
    And soft, sweet smelling blossom.

    Ho! May is fair, and glorious June,
        In rose leaves doth enfold her;
    Their bloom is richer than my own,
        But mine is sweeter, bolder.

    God's garden is this dim old wood,
    And I, the pretty vagrant,
    I am the gardener He sends
    To make it fair and fragrant.

Jean Blewett

Apple-Blossoms.

I sit in the shadow of apple-boughs,
In the fragrant orchard close,
And around me floats the scented air,
With its wave-like tidal flows.
I close my eyes in a dreamy bliss,
And call no king my peer;
For is not this the rare, sweet time,
The blossoming time of the year?

I lie on a couch of downy grass,
With delicate blossoms strewn,
And I feel the throb of Nature's heart
Responsive to my own.
Oh, the world is fair, and God is good,
That maketh life so dear;
For is not this the rare, sweet time,
The blossoming time of the year?

I can see, through the rifts of the apple-boughs,
The delicate blue of the sky,
And the changing clouds with their marvellous tints
That drift so lazily by.
And strange, sweet thoughts sing through my brain...

Horatio Alger, Jr.

May Garden

A shower of green gems on my apple tree
This first morning of May
Has fallen out of the night, to be
Herald of holiday -
Bright gems of green that, fallen there,
Seem fixed and glowing on the air.

Until a flutter of blackbird wings
Shakes and makes the boughs alive,
And the gems are now no frozen things,
But apple-green buds to thrive
On sap of my May garden, how well
The green September globes will tell.

Also my pear tree has its buds,
But they are silver-yellow,
Like autumn meadows when the floods
Are silver under willow,
And here shall long and shapely pears
Be gathered while the autumn wears.

And there are sixty daffodils
Beneath my wall....
And jealousy it is that kills
This world when all
The spring's behav...

John Drinkwater