Saturday, 4 February 2012

Moonlit Apples by John Drinkwater

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.


I print this lovely poem to express my pleasure at a short story of mine, 'Apples', being accepted - as a Leonard A. Koval Memorial prize winner, no less - for inclusion in a forthcoming anthology, Gem Street (Labello Press) .

Reading Charles Moore's biography of Mrs T. , I come across the following: "In 1937 Margaret won the Silver Medal at the Grantham eisteddfod for her recitation of John Drinkwater's 'Moonlit Apples'."

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