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Paul Laurence Dunbar - The Old Apple-Tree
Work rating: Medium

THERE`s a memory keeps a-runnin`
Through my weary head to-night,
An` I see a picture dancin`
In the fire-flames` ruddy-light;
`Tis the picture of an orchard 
Wrapped in autumn`s purple haze,
With the tender light about it
That I loved in other days.
An` a-standin` in a corner
Once again I seem to see
The verdant leaves an` branches
Of an old apple-tree.
You perhaps would call it ugly,
An` I don`t know but it`s so,
When you look the tree all over
Unadorned by memory`s glow; 
For its boughs are gnarled an` crooked,
An` its leaves are gettin` thin,
An` the apples of its bearin`
Wouldn`t fill so large a bin
As they used to. But I tell you,
When it comes to pleasin` me,
It`s the dearest in the orchard, —
Is that old apple-tree.
I would hide within its shelter,
Settlin` in some cosy nook,
Where no calls nor threats could stir me
From the pages o` my book.
Oh, that quiet, sweet seclusion
In its fulness passeth words!
It was deeper than the deepest
That my sanctum now affords.
Why, the jaybirds an` the robins,
They was hand in glove with me,
As they winked at me `an warbled
In that old apple-tree.
It was on its sturdy branches
That in summers long ago 
I would tie my swing an` dangle
In contentment to an` fro,
Idly dreaming` childish fancies,
Buildin` castles in the air,
Makin` o` myself a hero 
Of romances rich an` rare. 
I kin shet my eyes an` see it 
Jest as plain as plain kin be,
That same old swing a-danglin`
To the old apple-tree.
There`s a rustic seat beneath it
That I never kin forget.
It`s the place where me an` Hallie — 
Little sweetheart — used to set,
When we`d wander to the orchard
So`s no listenin` ones could hear 
As I whispered sugared nonsense
Into her little willin` ear. 
Now my gray old wife is Hallie, 
An` I`m grayer still than she, 
But I`ll not forget our courtin` 
`Neath the old apple-tree,
Life for us ain`t all been summer,
But I guess we`ve had our share
Of its flittin` joys an` pleasures,
An` a sprinklin` of its care.
Oft the skies have smiled upon us;
Then again we`ve seen `em frown,
Though our load was ne`er so heavy
That we longed to lay it down.
But when death does come a-callin`,
This my last request shall be, —
That they`ll bury me an` Hallie
`Neath the old apple-tree.
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