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!

James Whitcomb Riley.