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by Ellwood Roberts

The scent of apple-blossoms
Is in the air to-day;
Oh, say, why should we linger,
When green fields call away?
The streets are hot and dusty;
Let us no longer stay.

The fields are full of beauty,
The skies ablaze with light;
The dewdrops on the clover
Like diamonds gleam in sight,
And earth is kin to heaven,
This morning fresh and bright.

Oh, blessed apple-blossoms!
The sweetest time of all
Is when to field and orchard
Your scent and beauty call;
Who hesitates when bidden
To such a festival?

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