Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
David Moore
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Sir John Gielgud
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
Emma Topping
I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple-tree
And wore them all that evening in my hair:
Then in due season when I went to see
I found no apples there
With dangling basket all along the grass
As I had come I went the selfsame track:
My neighbours mocked me while they saw me pass
So empty-handed back
Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging by
Their heaped-up basket teased me like a jeer;
Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sunset sky
Their mother's home was near
Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full
A stronger hand than hers helped it along;
A voice talked with her through the shadows cool
More sweet to me than song
Ah Willie, Willie, was my love less worth
Than apples with their green leaves piled above?
I counted rosiest apples on the earth
Of far less worth than love
So once it was with me you stooped to talk
Laughing and listening in this very lane:
To think that by this way we used to walk
We shall not walk again!
I let me neighbours pass me, ones and twos
And groups; the latest said the night grew chill
And hastened: but I loitered, while the dews
Fell fast I loitered still
An Apple Gathering was written by Christina Rossetti.