Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

The Apple-Tree

I SAW the archangels in my apple-tree last night,

I saw them like great birds in the starlight—

Purple and burning blue, crimson and shining white.

And each to each they tossed an apple to and fro,

And once I heard their laughter gay and low;

And yet I felt no wonder that it should be so.

But when the apple came one time to Michael’s lap

I heard him say: “The mysteries that enwrap

The earth and fill the heavens can be read here, mayhap.”

Then Gabriel spoke: “I praise the deed, the hidden thing.”

“The beauty of the blossom of the spring

I praise,” cried Raphael. Uriel: “The wise leaves I sing.”

And Michael: “I will praise the fruit, perfected, round,

Full of the love of God, herein being bound

His mercies gathered from the sun and rain and ground.”

So sang they till a small wind through the branches stirred,

And spoke of coming dawn; and at its word

Each fled away to heaven, winged like a bird.