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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341943" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>August</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THERE WERE four apples on the bough,<br>Half gold half red, that one might know<br>The blood was ripe inside the core;<br>The colour of the leaves was more<br>Like stems of yellow corn that grow<br>Through all the gold June meadow’s floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The warm smell of the fruit was good<br>To feed on, and the split green wood,<br>With all its bearded lips and stains<br>Of mosses in the cloven veins,<br>Most pleasant, if one lay or stood<br>In sunshine or in happy rains.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There were four apples on the tree,<br>Red stained through gold, that all might see<br>The sun went warm from core to rind;<br>The green leaves made the summer blind<br>In that soft place they kept for me<br>With golden apples shut behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The leaves caught gold across the sun,<br>And where the bluest air begun,<br>Thirsted for song to help the heat;<br>As I to feel my lady’s feet<br>Draw close before the day were done;<br>Both lips grew dry with dreams of it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the mute August afternoon<br>They trembled to some undertune<br>Of music in the silver air;<br>Great pleasure was it to be there<br>Till green turned duskier and the moon<br>Coloured the corn-sheaves like gold hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That August time it was delight<br>To watch the red moons wane to white<br>’Twixt grey seamed stems of apple-trees;<br>A sense of heavy harmonies<br>Grew on the growth of patient night,<br>More sweet than shapen music is.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But some three hours before the moon<br>The air, still eager from the noon,<br>Flagged after heat, not wholly dead;<br>Against the stem I leant my head;<br>The colour soothed me like a tune,<br>Green leaves all round the gold and red.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I lay there till the warm smell grew<br>More sharp, when flecks of yellow dew<br>Between the round ripe leaves had blurred<br>The rind with stain and wet; I heard<br>A wind that blew and breathed and blew,<br>Too weak to alter its one word.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wet leaves next the gentle fruit<br>Felt smoother, and the brown tree-root<br>Felt the mould warmer: I too felt<br>(As water feels the slow gold melt<br>Right through it when the day burns mute)<br>The peace of time wherein love dwelt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There were four apples on the tree,<br>Gold stained on red that all might see<br>The sweet blood filled them to the core:<br>The colour of her hair is more<br>Like stems of fair faint gold, that be<br>Mown from the harvest’s middle floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Algernon+Charles+Swinburne">Algernon Charles Swinburne</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341943" data-title="August de Algernon Charles Swinburne" data-description="THERE WERE four apples on the bough,
Half gold half red, that one might know
The blood was ripe inside the core;
The colour of the leaves was more
Like stems of yellow corn that grow
Through all the gold June meadow’s floor.

The warm smell of t..."></div>
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