Nancy Campbell
I saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night,I saw them like great birds in the starlight—Purple and burning blue, crimson and shining white.And each to each they tossed an apple to and fro,And once I heard their laughter gay and low;And yet I felt no wonder that it should be so.But when the apple came one time to Michael’s lapI heard him say: “The mysteries that enwrapThe earth and fill the heavens can be read here, mayhap.”Then Gabriel spoke: “I praise the deed, the hidden thing.”“The beauty of the blossom of the springI praise,” cried Raphael. Uriel: “The wise leaves I sing.”And Michael: “I will praise the fruit, perfected, round,Full of the love of God, herein being boundHis mercies gathered from the sun and rain and ground.”So sang they till a small wind through the branches stirred,And spoke of coming dawn; and at its wordEach fled away to heaven, winged like a bird.
I saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night,I saw them like great birds in the starlight—Purple and burning blue, crimson and shining white.And each to each they tossed an apple to and fro,And once I heard their laughter gay and low;And yet I felt no wonder that it should be so.But when the apple came one time to Michael’s lapI heard him say: “The mysteries that enwrapThe earth and fill the heavens can be read here, mayhap.”Then Gabriel spoke: “I praise the deed, the hidden thing.”“The beauty of the blossom of the springI praise,” cried Raphael. Uriel: “The wise leaves I sing.”And Michael: “I will praise the fruit, perfected, round,Full of the love of God, herein being boundHis mercies gathered from the sun and rain and ground.”So sang they till a small wind through the branches stirred,And spoke of coming dawn; and at its wordEach fled away to heaven, winged like a bird.
I saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night,I saw them like great birds in the starlight—Purple and burning blue, crimson and shining white.
I saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night,
I saw them like great birds in the starlight—
Purple and burning blue, crimson and shining white.
And each to each they tossed an apple to and fro,And once I heard their laughter gay and low;And yet I felt no wonder that it should be so.
And each to each they tossed an apple to and fro,
And once I heard their laughter gay and low;
And yet I felt no wonder that it should be so.
But when the apple came one time to Michael’s lapI heard him say: “The mysteries that enwrapThe earth and fill the heavens can be read here, mayhap.”
But when the apple came one time to Michael’s lap
I heard him say: “The mysteries that enwrap
The earth and fill the heavens can be read here, mayhap.”
Then Gabriel spoke: “I praise the deed, the hidden thing.”“The beauty of the blossom of the springI praise,” cried Raphael. Uriel: “The wise leaves I sing.”
Then Gabriel spoke: “I praise the deed, the hidden thing.”
“The beauty of the blossom of the spring
I praise,” cried Raphael. Uriel: “The wise leaves I sing.”
And Michael: “I will praise the fruit, perfected, round,Full of the love of God, herein being boundHis mercies gathered from the sun and rain and ground.”
And Michael: “I will praise the fruit, perfected, round,
Full of the love of God, herein being bound
His mercies gathered from the sun and rain and ground.”
So sang they till a small wind through the branches stirred,And spoke of coming dawn; and at its wordEach fled away to heaven, winged like a bird.
So sang they till a small wind through the branches stirred,
And spoke of coming dawn; and at its word
Each fled away to heaven, winged like a bird.
I saw you hunched and shivering on the stones,The bleak wind piercing to your fragile bones,Your shabby scarlet all inadequate:A little ape that had such human eyesThey seemed to hide behind their miseries—Their dumb and hopeless bowing down to fate—Some puzzled wonder. Was your monkey soulSickening with memories of gorgeous days,Of tropic playfellows and forest ways,Where, agile, you could swing from bole to boleIn an enchanted twilight with great flowersFor stars; or on a bough the long night hoursSit out in rows, and chatter at the moon?Shuffling you went, your tiny chilly handOutstretched for what you did not understand;Your puckered mournful face begging a boonThat but enslaved you more. They who passed bySaw nothing sorrowful; gave laugh or stare,Unheeding that the little antic therePlayed in the gutter such a tragedy.
I saw you hunched and shivering on the stones,The bleak wind piercing to your fragile bones,Your shabby scarlet all inadequate:A little ape that had such human eyesThey seemed to hide behind their miseries—Their dumb and hopeless bowing down to fate—Some puzzled wonder. Was your monkey soulSickening with memories of gorgeous days,Of tropic playfellows and forest ways,Where, agile, you could swing from bole to boleIn an enchanted twilight with great flowersFor stars; or on a bough the long night hoursSit out in rows, and chatter at the moon?Shuffling you went, your tiny chilly handOutstretched for what you did not understand;Your puckered mournful face begging a boonThat but enslaved you more. They who passed bySaw nothing sorrowful; gave laugh or stare,Unheeding that the little antic therePlayed in the gutter such a tragedy.
I saw you hunched and shivering on the stones,The bleak wind piercing to your fragile bones,Your shabby scarlet all inadequate:A little ape that had such human eyesThey seemed to hide behind their miseries—Their dumb and hopeless bowing down to fate—Some puzzled wonder. Was your monkey soulSickening with memories of gorgeous days,Of tropic playfellows and forest ways,Where, agile, you could swing from bole to boleIn an enchanted twilight with great flowersFor stars; or on a bough the long night hoursSit out in rows, and chatter at the moon?Shuffling you went, your tiny chilly handOutstretched for what you did not understand;Your puckered mournful face begging a boonThat but enslaved you more. They who passed bySaw nothing sorrowful; gave laugh or stare,Unheeding that the little antic therePlayed in the gutter such a tragedy.
I saw you hunched and shivering on the stones,
The bleak wind piercing to your fragile bones,
Your shabby scarlet all inadequate:
A little ape that had such human eyes
They seemed to hide behind their miseries—
Their dumb and hopeless bowing down to fate—
Some puzzled wonder. Was your monkey soul
Sickening with memories of gorgeous days,
Of tropic playfellows and forest ways,
Where, agile, you could swing from bole to bole
In an enchanted twilight with great flowers
For stars; or on a bough the long night hours
Sit out in rows, and chatter at the moon?
Shuffling you went, your tiny chilly hand
Outstretched for what you did not understand;
Your puckered mournful face begging a boon
That but enslaved you more. They who passed by
Saw nothing sorrowful; gave laugh or stare,
Unheeding that the little antic there
Played in the gutter such a tragedy.