Poems (Bushnell)/Out of Season

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VOUT OF SEASON
A strange thing happened down our way Last fall,—the apple trees put outTheir pretty blossoms, just like May, And scattered all their pink about.
It gave my tough old soul a start, Just as you've seen a warmish breezeCome loitering out of summer's heart And rock and fan the gray old trees.
And 'twasn't but a day or two Before I got another shove,At hearing that old Samuel Drew Had gone and got at last in love.
If the old wreck, down off the Cape, That years ago one night capsized,Had floated in, in gallant shape, I should not have been more surprised.
But, dear me! if the apple-trees, When summer's past, bloom out againAnd sweeten every passing breeze, Why, what can you expect of men?
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A few late birds, up there above,  Keep calling down, "There's hope for all, When gray old hearts grow green with love  And fruit-trees blossom in the fall."
At any rate, one thing is plain:  That it is quite worth while to wait, Since not to trees nor yet to men  Does Heaven like to say, "Too late."
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