The half of an apple, well-flavored and fair,
Which shows by division such soundness of heart,
I gratefully hold; and acknowledge the care
And kindness of him, who retains t‘ other part.
The fruit, that would perish, I taste with delight,
The seed taking out to lay cautiously by,
Because it encloses, concealed from my sight,
An emblem of that, which in us cannot die.
Its elements, when‘ t is laid low in the earth,
If good, will arise in fresh verdure and bloom;
As man's deathless soul seeks the world of its birth,
When what it once dwelt in lies dark in the tomb.
The little memento I‘ ll hide in the ground,
For Nature, its mother, to tenderly rear;
And bright be its blossoms — its fruit fair and sound,
When I and the giver no more shall be here!
For, when I depart, and some good, living deed
Would fain leave behind, in remembrance of me,
At least, be it said that I planted a seed,
That others might gather the fruit from the tree!