Poetry Tuesday: Pomona

Not the city, and not written by the Hollywood agent William Morris, but rather a guy from the 19th century.

I am the ancient Apple-Queen,
As once I was so am I now,
For evermore a hope unseen,
Betwixt the blossom and the bough.

Ah, where’s the river’s hidden Gold?
And where the windy grave of Troy?
Yet come I as I come of old,
From out the heart of Summer’s joy.


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