Poems (Van Rensselaer)/Apple Blossoms and the Child
APPLE BLOSSOMS AND THE CHILD
Beneath each rosy-white
Ethereal bloom, lovely as pearl and seemingly
As useless save to charm the sight,
There lieth, not mere prophecy
Of fruit to come, but the round fruit
In miniature complete—a globe minute,
With envelope and flesh and seed
So planned that it shall need,
To make fair food for longing lips,
Only the balmy wind, the freshening rain,
And the sunshine that slips
Its warming touch the sheltering leaves between.
—And, baby, in thy soul again
Whoso hath looked the miracle hath seen.
Here is not promise that a man shall grow;
Here is the man as he may be,
Full-formed within
The fragrant petal-cup of infancy.
Ethereal bloom, lovely as pearl and seemingly
As useless save to charm the sight,
There lieth, not mere prophecy
Of fruit to come, but the round fruit
In miniature complete—a globe minute,
With envelope and flesh and seed
So planned that it shall need,
To make fair food for longing lips,
Only the balmy wind, the freshening rain,
And the sunshine that slips
Its warming touch the sheltering leaves between.
—And, baby, in thy soul again
Whoso hath looked the miracle hath seen.
Here is not promise that a man shall grow;
Here is the man as he may be,
Full-formed within
The fragrant petal-cup of infancy.
Watch the bright eye
Seeking, insatiable, to learn, to know;
Watch the unresting steps begin
Their voyages of far discovery.
See how to hands outstretched the soft hands cling,
And how the soft glance tells
Responsive love to love that dwells
In other eyes.
See how the tender wounded heart can bring
Swift dignity to heal its grieved surprise,
And courage comes at call,
The brave mouth quivers but the foot stands fast
When perilous risks befall—
When the great hound, first seen, affrights,
Or in the dusk of garden nights
The moth, the beetle, whirr too closely past!
Seeking, insatiable, to learn, to know;
Watch the unresting steps begin
Their voyages of far discovery.
See how to hands outstretched the soft hands cling,
And how the soft glance tells
Responsive love to love that dwells
In other eyes.
See how the tender wounded heart can bring
Swift dignity to heal its grieved surprise,
And courage comes at call,
The brave mouth quivers but the foot stands fast
When perilous risks befall—
When the great hound, first seen, affrights,
Or in the dusk of garden nights
The moth, the beetle, whirr too closely past!
How valiant the desire to aid
In tasks enormous for so slender powers;
How keen the sense in the beloved to see
The changes made
By the uncomp ehended flight of changeful hours—
To give the kiss betokening sympathy,
Or trustfulness, or merriment.
How quick the lamentations and the crystal tears
For the young robin slain,
The lily that the storm has rent;
Yet with what gentle fortitude the small soul bears
Its own long fevered test of unaccustomed pain,
Stoic yet sweet the while,
Weakened of all except the will to smile.
So unto us the babe is born;
So in the blossom of his happy morn
Lie wrapped the pattern and the plan
Of grace and virtue in the man.
Oh, sheltering leaves, oh, warming sun,
Guard, foster, fashion, that there shall in one
Be fully ripened, undistorted, undefiled,
The springtime excellences of the child.
Blow, bracing wind! Fall, fructifying rain!
Round out the promise of the tiny sphere,
Nor let it grow to gnarlèd shape and bitter grain,
Nor, blighted, drop and disappear;
For all the world is hungry, thirsty, destitute,
Lacking due harvest of such fruit
As waits, so small and yet so perfect, here.
In tasks enormous for so slender powers;
How keen the sense in the beloved to see
The changes made
By the uncomp ehended flight of changeful hours—
To give the kiss betokening sympathy,
Or trustfulness, or merriment.
How quick the lamentations and the crystal tears
For the young robin slain,
The lily that the storm has rent;
Yet with what gentle fortitude the small soul bears
Its own long fevered test of unaccustomed pain,
Stoic yet sweet the while,
Weakened of all except the will to smile.
So unto us the babe is born;
So in the blossom of his happy morn
Lie wrapped the pattern and the plan
Of grace and virtue in the man.
Oh, sheltering leaves, oh, warming sun,
Guard, foster, fashion, that there shall in one
Be fully ripened, undistorted, undefiled,
The springtime excellences of the child.
Blow, bracing wind! Fall, fructifying rain!
Round out the promise of the tiny sphere,
Nor let it grow to gnarlèd shape and bitter grain,
Nor, blighted, drop and disappear;
For all the world is hungry, thirsty, destitute,
Lacking due harvest of such fruit
As waits, so small and yet so perfect, here.