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Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889

Apple Blossoms

By Margaret Elizabeth Sangster (1838–1912)

LAST eve there stole a wee white dream to brush our darling’s pillow;

It whispered of a flowing stream and of a nodding willow.

She stirred and laughed, for in her sleep she heard the bluebells ringing,

And far away the bleat of sheep, and near the robin’s singing.

This morning, when our darling woke, the world was all a wonder:

Above, such golden sunshine broke, such light and joy were under;

The meadows rippled like the sea, and every knoll was flushing;

The zephyrs came with kisses free, and, oh, the trees were blushing.

The apple blossoms, pink and white, you could not count their number;

The fairy work was wrought by night, while earth was hushed in slumber.

Our darling’s violet eyes grew wide: the orchard aisles were bowers,

And here and yonder, everywhere, she saw a snow of flowers.

We hear her little footsteps pass; her merry voice is humming;

A flitting shadow o’er the grass, her daintiness is coming.

“Oh, this is Spring, is Spring,” she cries; “I know her by the glory.

And see, oh, see, the birdie’s wing! which flashing tells the story.

“I’ve tiptoed all across the brook, I’ve searched in all the hollows,

I’ve peeped in many a tiny nook, I’ve chased the flying swallows,

I’ve seen the cunning little chicks—dear things, so round and funny!—

And helped the wrens to straws and sticks, and fed both Frisk and Bunny.

“And this is Spring,” our darling cried. It pleased our hearts to hear her;

And Nature’s self, with loving pride, seemed gently drawing nearer,

While dropped the wind such kisses sweet that all the land was flushing,

And hill and vale were glad to greet the apple blossoms’ blushing.