At the top of the house the apples are laid in rows,
And the skylight lets the moonlight in, and those
Apples are deep-sea apples of green. There goes
A cloud on the moon in the autumn night.
A mouse in the wainscot scratches, and scratches, and then
There is no sound at the top of the house of men
Or mice; and the cloud is blown, and the moon again
Dapples the apples with deep-sea light.
They are lying in rows there, under the gloomy beams;
On the sagging floor; they gather the silver streams
Out of the moon, those moonlit apples of dreams,
And quiet is the steep stair under.
In the corridors under there is nothing but sleep.
And stiller than ever on orchard boughs they keep
Tryst with the moon, and deep is the silence, deep
On moon-washed apples of wonder.
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Comments
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primary school
From guest graham (contact)
One of my memories from Primary School. Having read the poem in class, we had to paint a picture of the apples, my picture was pinned up on the wall. Wonderful poem, and a tresured memory of a happy time too. -
Moonlit Apples
From guest Patricia harben (contact)
I have just been to the Bury St. Edmunds Hard of Hearing Group meeting, where a guest speaker read this lovely poem. It brought back memories of learning and loving this poem when I was a child. I had forgotten who the author was, but have now made a note, and will not lose track of this lovely poem again. -
Moonlit Apples
From guest Anji (contact)
Wild, quiet magic, this; one of my dearest and best-loved poems. -
Childhood
From guest Colin Beadle (contact)
This was in a book of poems I uised to read from when I was at school. Now it takes me back to my childhood days spent with my mother and Great Grandmother. My Great Granmother lived in a tiny 300 year old cottage in England. I used to love helping them in preserving fruit picked from their garden, storing them for the coming winter. In the evenings listening to them reading to me from childrens book they kept from their childhood. Thank goodness we still have poetry in this ghastly electronic 21st century! -
memories
From guest Marie Jo McCrossan (contact)
This was the first poem I recited at the Lanarkshire Versespeaking Festival...I won first place. I was eleven years old. -
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