Lately in green cider groves
I find myself enquiring:
What secret makes Dame Apple blush
To see Sir Sun a-shining?
Did Lady Apple and Sir Sun
In early hour of dawn
Dance in joyous nakedness
Upon the dewy lawn?
For if I know enough of life
To read a lady’s cheek
I know that fair and rosy glow
Of some love-game must speak.
Though it’s not in ancient myths,
Least, none that I have heard,
That ruddy hue speaks far more true
Than any written word.
And yet I cast no judgment for,
Who’s not, in early hour
Felt the full and fiery force
Of Love’s almighty power?
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