Pomona.
She comes, all laden with the teeming wealth1
Of harvest yet unreaped. Her golden hair2
Braided with scarlet poppies, flowing waves3
In sunny ripples o’er her shoulders white,4
As holding Earth in her embrace, she moves5
On in triumphal progress.
She is crowned,6
Crowned with the mellow russet apple globes,7
Red-streaked with scarlet veins, her brown hands stored8
With purple plums, whereon the ash bloom sits9
Unbrushed by envious fingers. In her lap10
Nestles the queenly peach, her crimson down11
Coy-mingling with the amber apricot,12
And the rich treasures of the bending vine,13
Blue-black and white, in beaded clusters, add14
Their glories to the store.
King Autumn bows,15
Wheat-crowned, his ruddy head, at the approach16
Of this his smiling spouse, as blithe he pours17
At her fair feet brown rustling filberts ripe,18
Medlars, and hazel-nuts, and all his share,19
To swell her marriage portion. Thus they crown20
With mutual gifts the bride-feast of the year !21