After Apple Tree Picking
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward sky still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, together with at that spot may endure 2 or three
Apples I didn't selection upon roughly bough.
But I am done amongst apple-picking now.
Essence of wintertime slumber is on the night,
The odour of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning time from the drinking trough
And held against the public of hoary grass.
It melted, together with I allow it autumn together with break.
But I was well
Upon my agency to slumber earlier it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was near to take.
Magnified apples appear together with disappear,
Stem terminate together with flower end,
And every flake of russet showing clear.
My instep arch non solely keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure level of a ladder-round.
I experience the ladder sway equally the boughs bend.
Toward sky still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, together with at that spot may endure 2 or three
Apples I didn't selection upon roughly bough.
But I am done amongst apple-picking now.
Essence of wintertime slumber is on the night,
The odour of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning time from the drinking trough
And held against the public of hoary grass.
It melted, together with I allow it autumn together with break.
But I was well
Upon my agency to slumber earlier it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was near to take.
Magnified apples appear together with disappear,
Stem terminate together with flower end,
And every flake of russet showing clear.
My instep arch non solely keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure level of a ladder-round.
I experience the ladder sway equally the boughs bend.
And I buy the farm on hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of charge on charge of apples coming in.
For I induce got had also much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the dandy harvest I myself desired.
There were 10 M one thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish inward hand, elevator down, together with non allow fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No thing if non bruised or spiked amongst stubble,
Went sure to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One tin run across what volition trouble
This slumber of mine, whatsoever slumber it is.
Were he non gone,
The woodchuck could tell whether it's similar his
Long sleep, equally I depict its coming on,
Or merely roughly human sleep.
The rumbling sound
Of charge on charge of apples coming in.
For I induce got had also much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the dandy harvest I myself desired.
There were 10 M one thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish inward hand, elevator down, together with non allow fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No thing if non bruised or spiked amongst stubble,
Went sure to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One tin run across what volition trouble
This slumber of mine, whatsoever slumber it is.
Were he non gone,
The woodchuck could tell whether it's similar his
Long sleep, equally I depict its coming on,
Or merely roughly human sleep.
-Robert Frost
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