When The Fruit Trees Bloom

When the fruit trees bloom,
Pink of peach and white of plum,
And the pear-trees' cones of snow
In the old back orchard blow --
Planted fifty years ago!
And the cherries' long white row
Gives the sweetest prophecy
Of the banquet that will be,
When the suns and winds of June
Shall have kissed to fruit the bloom --
Then Falstaffian bumble-bees
Drain the blossoms to the lees.
When the fruit trees bloom.


When the fruit trees bloom,
Pink the apple, white the plum,
Underneath the knotted boughs
I am holding full carouse;
Drunken with the wine that drips
Downward from each blossom's lips,
While the catbird's strident calls
Seem the laugh of bacchanals
Ringing through these winy halls;
Serenaded by the bees,
Lullabies in minor keys,
Soon I sink in drunken drowse,
When-the-fruit-trees-bloom.