The Poetry Corner

Yvonne Of Brittany

By Ernest Christopher Dowson

In your mother's apple-orchard, Just a year ago, last spring: Do you remember, Yvonne! The dear trees lavishing Rain of their starry blossoms To make you a coronet? Do you ever remember, Yvonne? As I remember yet. In your mother's apple-orchard, When the world was left behind: You were shy, so shy, Yvonne! But your eyes were calm and kind. We spoke of the apple harvest, When the cider press is set, And such-like trifles, Yvonne! That doubtless you forget. In the still, soft Breton twilight, We were silent; words were few, Till your mother came out chiding, For the grass was bright with dew: But I know your heart was beating, Like a fluttered, frightened dove. Do you ever remember, Yvonne? That first faint flush of love? In the fulness of midsummer, When the apple-bloom was shed, Oh, brave was your surrender, Though shy the words you said. I was glad, so glad, Yvonne! To have led you home at last; Do you ever remember, Yvonne! How swiftly the days passed?