Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922.

Orchard

I SAW the first pear

As it fell—

The honey-seeking, golden-banded,

The yellow swarm

Was not more fleet than I,

(Spare us from loveliness)

And I fell prostrate

Crying:

You have flayed us

With your blossoms,

Spare us the beauty

Of fruit-trees.

The honey-seeking

Paused not,

The air thundered their song,

And I alone was prostrate.

O rough-hewn

God of the orchard,

I bring you an offering—

Do you, alone unbeautiful,

Son of the god,

Spare us from loveliness:

These fallen hazel-nuts,

Stripped late of their green sheaths,

Grapes, red-purple,

Their berries

Dripping with wine,

Pomegranates already broken,

And shrunken figs

And quinces untouched,

I bring you as offering.