I wanted the apple, when offered to me By its generous owner, but thought it not right To take it, because it had grown on a tree, That sprang from a seed sown by PEREGRINE WHITE.
And he, who thus proffered it, had none beside it; While diffidence checked the words,— “Let us divide it.” Now Peregrine White was the first white, you know, Who drew his first breath in New England — the child,
Whose parents were making to bud and to blow, With its earliest blossoms, America's wild: But he with the fruit never questioned me, whether We might partake of the apple together.
Though a fabled divinity once had let fall An apple of gold, where his favorites thronged, Inscribed, “Of the fair, to the fairest of all!” It was not to me this whole apple belonged:
My friend was no god — and then I, but a woman; I thought that to halve it were just about human. The whole I declined; still I did not deny A wish that, unuttered, was strong in my heart;
And from it entire, while averting my eye, I own I was secretly coveting part; And had he divided the offering presented, Preserving one half, I had come off contented.
Had Solomon been there to put in a word, His wisdom had brought the debate to an end, Deciding at once, by the edge of his sword, This contest of kindness between friend and friend:
Yet he with the apple was quite too short-sighted To see how I might in a half have delighted. I hope that next autumn he‘ ll go where it grew, And, if not forbidden the fruit, that he‘ ll reach
And pluck a fair apple, then cut it in two, And tell me at once that a half is for each. Of friendship's best gift how the worth may be lightened By having it whole, when, if shared, how‘ t were heightened!
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