________________________________________________
Title: The Shaking Of The Pear-Tree
Author: Dinah M. Mulock Craik [
More Titles by Craik]
OF all days I remember,
In summers passed away,
Was "the shaking of the pear-tree,"
In grandma's orchard gay.
A large old-fashioned orchard,
With long grass under foot,
And blackberry-brambles crawling
In many a tangled shoot.
From cherry time, till damsons
Dropped from the branches sere,
That wonderful old orchard
Was full of fruit all year;
We pick'd it up in baskets,
Or pluck'd it from the wall;
But the shaking of the pear-tree
Was the grandest treat of all.
Long, long the days we counted
Until that day drew nigh;
Then, how we watched the sun set,
And criticised the sky!
If rain--"'Twill clear at midnight;"
If dawn broke chill and gray,
"O many a cloudy morning
Turns out a lovely day."
So off we started gaily,
Heedless of jolt or jar;
Through town and lane, and hamlet,
In old Llewellyn's car.
He's dead and gone--Llewellyn,
These twenty years, I doubt:
If I put him in this poem,
He'll never find it out,
The patient, kind Llewellyn--
Whose broad face smiled all o'er,
As he lifted out us children
At grandma's very door.
And there stood Grandma's Betty,
With cheeks like apples red;
And Dash, the spaniel, waddled
Out of his cosy bed.
With silky ears down dropping,
And coat of chestnut pale;
He was so fat and lazy
He scarce could wag his tail.
Poor Dash is dead, and buried
Under the lilac-tree;
And Betty's old,--as, children,
We all may one day be.
I hope no child will vex us,
As we vexed Betty then,
With winding up the draw-well,
Or hunting the old hen.
And teasing, teasing, teasing,
Till afternoon wore round,
And shaken pears came tumbling
In showers upon the ground.
O how we jumped and shouted!
O how we plunged amid
The long grass, where the treasures,
Dropped down and deftly hid;
Long, slender-shaped, red-russet,
Or yellow just like gold;
Ah! never pears have tasted
Like those sweet pears of old!
We ate--I'd best not mention
How many: paused to fill
Big basket after basket;
Working with right good-will;
Then hunted round the orchard
For half-ripe plums--in vain;
So, back unto the pear-tree,
To eat, and eat again.
I'm not on my confession,
And therefore need not say
How tired, and cross, and sleepy,
Some were ere close of day;
For pleasure has its ending,
And eke its troubles too;
Which you'll find out, my children,
As well as we could do.
But yet this very minute,
I seem to see it all--
The pear-tree's empty branches
The gray of evening-fall;
The children's homeward silence,
The furnace fires that glowed,
Each mile or so, out streaming
Across the lonely road;
And high, high set in heaven,
One large bright, beauteous star,
That shone between the curtains
Of old Llewellyn's car.
[The end]
Dinah M. Mulock Craik's poem: Shaking Of The Pear-Tree
________________________________________________
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
