So briefly came the plum Forerunner of the year Snow-white in lace and filigree I scarcely knew it was A fragment once of time Blown lightly on my breath. The apricot flashed morning bright With flaming petal tips Caught in a rainbow sun. By noon the peach wore silk for spring And the pear its crystal diadem. Ashen was the arum And the snowdrop's bells were temple still. Till Come morning gone to night Past high midsummer day The apple and the pear, the peach, the plum, The snowdrop and the arum Bent down and gave to earth For surfeit to its hunger, For token of its trust, The golden trumpets of the seeds within the fruit. What magic alchemy within the mind Has thus transmuted memory from these Bitter winter winds That trumpet through the barren trees?