Sweet Apple

(After Sappho)

At the end of the bough, at the top of the tree
(As fragrant, as high, and as lovely as thou!),
One sweet apple reddens which all men may see
At the end of the bough.

Swinging full to the view, though the gatherers now
Pass, and evade, overlook busily:
Overlook ! nay, but pluck it!
They cannot tell how.

For it swings out of reach as a cloud, and as free
As a star, or thy beauty, which seems too, I vow,
Remote as the sweet rosy apple—ah me!
At the end of the bough.

Songs From The Clay [1915]