Excellent apples for pies;
There are no mystical meanings
In fruit of that color and size.
They are too coarse and too juiceful;
They are too large and too useful.
There are the Baldwins and Flyers,
Wrapped in their beautiful fires!
Color forks up from their stems
As if painted by Flora,
Or as out from the pole stream the flames
Of the Northern Aurora.

Here shall our quest have a close;
Fill up your basket with those;
Bite through their vesture of flame,
And then you will gather
All that is meant by the name,
"Seek-no-farther!"

_David_.

The native orchard's fairest trees,
Wild springing on the hill,
Bear no such precious fruits as these,
And never will;


Till ax and saw and pruning knife
Cut from them every bough,
And they receive a gentler life