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Thomas Westwood
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A goodly host one day was mine,
A Golden Apple his only sign, That hung from a long branch, ripe and fine. My host was the bountiful apple-tree; He gave me shelter and nourished me With the best of fare, all fresh and free. And light-winged guests came not a few, To his leafy inn, and sipped the dew, And sang their best songs ere they flew. I slept at night on a downy bed Of moss, and my Host beningnly spread His own cool shadow over my head. When I asked what reckoning there might be, He shook his broad boughs cheerily: -- A blessing be thing, green Apple-tree! |
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