by Christina Rossetti

    I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple-tree

    And wore them all that evening in my hair：

    Then in due season when I went to see

    I found no apples there.

    With dangling¹ basket all along the grass

    As I had come I went the selfsame track：

    My neighbours mocked me while they saw me pass

    So empty-handed back.

    Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging² by，

    Their heaped-up basket teased me like a jeer³；

    Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sunset sky，

    Their mother's home was near.

    Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full，

    A stronger hand than hers helped it along；

    A voice talked with her through the shadows cool

    More sweet to me than song.

    Ah Willie， Willie， was my love less worth

    Than apples with their green leaves piled above？

    I counted rosiest⁴ apples on the earth

    Of far less worth than love.

    So once it was with me you stooped to talk

    Laughing and listening in this very lane：

    To think that by this way we used to walk

    We shall not walk again！

    I let me neighbours pass me， ones and twos

    And groups； the latest said the night grew chill，

    And hastened： but I loitered， while the dews

    Fell fast I loitered still.

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