THE SWING.
It stands, no beauty on the lawn, . Though beautiful to me, The rugged, crooked, gnatled, stunted, Blossoming apple tree. I love to see it rich with blooms, Or white with feathery enow, Ripening thoughts as well as apples, Out of the Long- Ago. Twelve summers up the stream of Time — It seems but yesterday — I made a swing from its sturdiest bough, I'' a morn of merry May, And from it swung my love, my life, In the flush of her sunny youth, And I .wooed her shyly, won her bravely, With all her love and truth. And now I swing another as fair, She's nine years old or ten, She laughs, and sings, and shouts, " Papa, Swing me again ! again I" And I swing her again and ki<s her; " Don't kick at the stars," I cry, , And she crackles with laughter, and gays " I will. If you'll swing me up aB high." Gnarly, crooked, ragged, stunted, Blossoming apple bough ! I do not know in the wide, wide world, Another as fair as thou ! Three loves, three lives, three spirits of Hope, Amid thy leaves are hidden ; And tby fruit is a fruit of Paradise, Pleasant, and unforbidden. — AU the Year Bound.
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Bibliographic details
Nelson Evening Mail, Volume VII, Issue 262, 4 November 1872, Page 1
Word Count
204THE SWING. Nelson Evening Mail, Volume VII, Issue 262, 4 November 1872, Page 1
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