text: Not in that wasted garden
  Where bodies are drawn into grass
  That feeds no flocks, and into evergreens
  That bear no fruit
  There where along the shaded walks
  Vain sighs are heard,
  And vainer dreams are dreamed
  Of close communion with departed souls
  But here under the apple tree
  I loved and watched and pruned
  With gnarled hands
  In the long, long years;
  Here under the roots of this northern-spy
  To move in the chemic change and circle of life,
  Into the soil and into the flesh of the tree,
  And into the living epitaphs
  Of redder apples!