The Orchard-Pit <br />Piled deep below the screening apple-branch <br />They lie with bitter apples in their hands: <br />And some are only ancient bones that blanch, <br />And some had ships that last year's wind did launch, <br />And some were yesterday the lords of lands. <br /> <br />In the soft dell, among the apple-trees, <br />High up above the hidden pit she stands, <br />And there for ever sings, who gave to these, <br />That lie below, her magic hour of ease, <br />And those her apples holden in their hands. <br /> <br />This in my dreams is shown me; and her hair <br />Crosses my lips and draws my burning breath; <br />Her song spreads golden wings upon the air, <br />Life's eyes are gleaming from her forehead fair, <br />And from her breasts the ravishing eyes of Death. <br /> <br />Men say to me that sleep hath many dreams, <br />Yet I knew never but this dream alone: <br />There, from a dried-up channel, once the stream's, <br />The glen slopes up; even such in sleep it seems <br />As to my waking sight the place well known. <br /> <br />My love I call her, and she loves me well: <br />But I love her as in the maelstrom's cup <br />The whirled stone loves the leaf inseparable <br />That clings to it round all the circling swell, <br />And that the same last eddy swallows up.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-orchard-pit/
