Like the sweet apple which reddens
upon the topmost bough,
Atop on the topmost twig- which the
pluckers forgot, somehow-
Forgot it not, nay! but got it not, for
none could get it till now.
Like the wild hyacinth flower which on
the hills is found,
Which the passing feet of the shepherds
forever tear and wound,
Until the purple blossom is trodden into
the ground.
