Honey Dripping from the Comb

How slight a thing may set one’s fancy drifting Upon the dead sea of the Past!—A view— Sometimes an odor—or a rooster lifting A far-off “Ooh! ooh-ooh!” And suddenly we find ourselves astray In some wood’s-pasture of the Long Ago,— Or idly dream again upon a day Of rest we used to know. I bit an apple but a moment since,— A wilted apple that the worm had spurned,— Yet hidden in the taste were happy hints Of good old days returned. And so my heart, like some enraptured lute, Tinkles a tune so tender and complete, God’s blessing must be resting on the fruit— So bitter, yet so sweet!

Collection: 
English
1869
James Whitcomb Riley

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