In your mother's apple-orchard, <br />Just a year ago, last spring: <br />Do you remember, Yvonne! <br />The dear trees lavishing <br />Rain of their starry blossoms <br />To make you a coronet? <br />Do you ever remember, Yvonne, <br />As I remember yet? <br /> <br />In your mother's apple-orchard, <br />When the world was left behind: <br />You were shy, so shy, Yvonne! <br />But your eyes were calm and kind. <br />We spoke of the apple harvest, <br />When the cider press is set, <br />And such-like trifles, Yvonne, <br />That doubtless you forget. <br /> <br />In the still, soft Breton twilight, <br />We were silent; words were few, <br />Till your mother came out chiding, <br />For the grass was bright with dew: <br />But I know your heart was beating, <br />Like a fluttered, frightened dove. <br />Do you ever remember, Yvonne, <br />That first faint flush of love? <br /> <br />In the fulness of midsummer, <br />When the apple-bloom was shed, <br />Oh, brave was your surrender, <br />Though shy the words you said. <br />I was glad, so glad, Yvonne! <br />To have led you home at last; <br />Do you ever remember, Yvonne, <br />How swiftly the days passed? <br /> <br />In your mother's apple-orchard <br />It is grown too dark to stray, <br />There is none to chide you, Yvonne! <br />You are over far away. <br />There is dew on your grave grass, Yvonne! <br />But your feet it shall not wet: <br />No, you never remember, Yvonne! <br />And I shall soon forget.<br /><br />Ernest Christopher Dowson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/yvonne-of-brittany/
