Apple of gold and silver pear
I cannot pluck you from the orchard of dream
You merely shine there
Canopied by the blue silken skies
That ripple everywhere.
Made to be ornamental;
I shall abide your shade
Beauty far removed still casts its shadows
And in extremity I will drink orangeade
Waking up to find the table laid
The chair drawn up by the cooling fans.
The Spanish fountains.
mary angela douglas 27 may 2024
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem