Flower Poetry Fridays: Blossoms Falling From The Fruit-Trees

Welcome back to Flower Poetry Fridays with Mrs. Sigourney. Each Friday a new poem will be posted from her The Voice Of Flowers.


THE world doth take us captive with its wiles
Of vanity or pleasure. So our thoughts
Are scarce in unison with Nature’s grief,
When her sweet blossoms fade.
                            Yon stricken trees,
From whence glad Autumn gathereth plenteous
Of ruddy apples for the wintry eve,
Resign their radiant robes, and rich perfume,
That made the orchard like a queen’s levee,
And clad in russet garments, fleck’d with green,
Lamenting, teach the philosophic lore
Of brief prosperity.
                            That lofty pine,
Which, like some feudal baron from his tower,
Did awe the neighboring peasantry of shrubs,
Deplores that they should see his boasted
Stripp’d by each robber breeze.

A tint like snow, from the young Almond’s
Strew’d lavishly around ; while, sick at heart,
The Peach, despairing mother, sees her babes
Dead at her feet.
                            Break forth in song, ye birds,
From your cool nests, or on the buoyant wing,
And be their comforters.
                            Uphold their hearts
With cheering descant of the season’s prime,
When their bereavement shall be lost in joy.
Tell them that man, their culturer, oft beholds
His beauty and his pride, like theirs, depart;
But yet, from what he counted loss, doth reap
A more enduring gain.
                            Yea, bid them bide
In faith and hope, the chastening of this hour,
Yielding their fragrance to the tyrant winds—
For God remembereth them.
                            Lift high your strain,
Minstrels of Heaven, and ask the sorrowing
If those pale petals fell not, where would be
The glory of their fruitage ? or the praise
Of the Great Master at the Harvest Day ?

The flowers of Spring are so brilliant and beautiful, it’s a shame to lose them after only such a short time. Perhaps their quick lives are an ode to their beauty for nothing lasts forever.

Beauty fades. The best is yet to be.

Winter seems harsh and long, even when it’s mild, so that near its end we all pine for warmer days. When Spring does arrive in all its glory people come out from their hiding places to rejoice and feel the sunshine on their faces. We all seem to be in a good mood and smiles are everywhere you look.

I’m not sure if folks think delicious thoughts while looking at fruit tree blossoms, like, “Yum! Blueberry Buckle!”, in the same way I’ve heard a hungry person look at a cow in a field exclaim, “Yum! Steak!”

Gardeners will probably look forward to the harvest having witnessed the falling blooms for they know about their promises of goodness to come.

Come back next Friday for the next installment in our series of flower poems from Mrs. Sigourney’s The Voice of Flowers, “The Willow, Poppy, and Violet”.

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