I love old apple trees in bloom,
Old trees aslant and bent,
Replete with strength from every storm
The many years have sent.

It matters not how very gnarled
Each branch and limb may be,
It is the place that spring loves best
It always seems to me.

She hangs her softest colors there,
Pale green and pink and white,
A mist of floating loveliness
Baptized in golden light.

Their beauty is so delicate,
And yet so wondrous strong
It binds and holds my trembling heart
As with a magic thong.

And oh, that sweetest, liquid note
That only robins bring
When to the apple trees they come
To mate and build and sing!

Dear apple trees, abloom with life,
You make my heart to break.
For you have caused another spring
Within my heart to wake.

I love old apple trees in bloom
When songsters all have fled,
Abloom in white on winter nights
When spring lies cold and dead.

The ghostly moon makes shadows then
Across the crusted snow,
And nestling in the branches bare
The restless wind sighs low.

I love old apple trees in bloom
With every blossom gone.
Then, when my heart is nearest them,
They sing their sweetest song.

Old apple trees abloom, you know
Not only bloom, but sing.
The flowers and birds may come and go,
Theirs is eternal spring!