While apple bloom is white as snow.

Within the apple tree.

Within the apple tree;

Thank God, no song for me.

In the boughs of the apple tree,

Until night's noon bring thee!

The birds leave still and free

In the dawn, 'twixt him and me.

 COLINETTE. FOR A SKETCH BY MR. G. LESLIE, A.R.A. France your country, as we know; Room enough for guessing yet, What lips now or long ago, Kissed and named you—Colinette. In what fields from sea to sea, By what stream your home was set, Loire or Seine was glad of thee, Marne or Rhone, O Colinette? Did you stand with "maidens ten, Fairer maids were never seen," When the young king and his men Passed among the orchards green? Nay, old ballads have a note Mournful, we would fain forget; No such sad old air should float Round your young brows, Colinette. Say, did Ronsard sing to you, Shepherdess, to lull his pain, When the court went wandering through Rose pleasances of Touraine? Ronsard and his famous Rose Long are dust the breezes fret; You, within the garden close, You are blooming, Colinette. Have I seen you proud and gay, With a patched and perfumed beau, Dancing through the summer day, Misty summer of Watteau? Nay, so sweet a maid as you Never walked a minuet With the splendid courtly crew; Nay, forgive me, Colinette. Not from Greuze's canvasses Do you cast a glance, a smile; You are not as one of these, Yours is beauty without guile. Round your maiden brows and hair Maidenhood and Childhood met, Crown and kiss you, sweet and fair, New art's blossom, Colinette. 

FOR A SKETCH BY MR. G. LESLIE, A.R.A.

Room enough for guessing yet,

Kissed and named you—Colinette.

By what stream your home was set,

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