The Blossoming Time of Year

The buds on my espaliered apples and my May Pride peach tree are the first to wake to the warm Spring sun. Walking through my orchard this morning reminded me of a favorite poem from my grade school days. It seem appropriate to share it with you on this beautiful Spring day.

I sit in the shadow of apple-boughs,
In the fragrant orchard close,
And around me floats the
scented air,
With its wave-like tidal flows.
I close my eyes in a dreamy bliss,
And call no king my peer;
For is not this the rare, sweet time,
The blossoming time of the year?

I lie on a couch of downy grass,
With delicate blossoms strewn, 
And I feel the throb of Nature's heart,

Responsive to my own.
Oh, the world is fair,
and God is good,

That maketh life so dear;

For is not this the rare, sweet time,

The blossoming time of the year?

I can see, through the rifts of the apple-boughs, The delicate blue of the sky, And the changing clouds with their marvelous tints

That drift so lazily by.

And strange, sweet thoughts sing through my brain,

And Heaven, it seemeth near; 

Oh, is it not a rare, sweet time,

The blossoming time of the year?

Horatio Alger