I had come from the city early
That Saturday afternoon;
I sat with Beatrix under the trees
In the mossy orchard; the golden bees
Buzzed over clover-tops, pink and pearly;
I was at peace, and inclined to spoon.
We were stopping awhile with mother,
At the quiet country place
Where first we'd met, one blossomy May,
And fallen in love — so the dreamy day
Brought to my memory many another
In the happy time when I won her grace.
Days in the bright Spring weather,
When the twisted, rough old tree
Showered down apple-blooms, dainty and sweet,
That swung in her hair, and blushed at her feet;
Sweet was her face as we lingered together,
And dainty the kisses my love gave me.
“Dear love, are you recalling
The old days, too?” I said.
Her sweet eyes filled, and with tender grace
She turned and rested her blushing face
Against my shoulder; a sunbeam falling
Through the leaves above us crowned her head.
And so I held her, trusting
That none was by to see;
A sad mistake — for low, but clear,
This feminine comment reached my ear:
“Married for ages — it's just disgusting —
Such actions — and, Fred, they've got our tree!”