After Apple-Picking
1914 poem by Robert Frost From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
1914 poem by Robert Frost From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
"After Apple-Picking" is a poem by American poet Robert Frost. It was published in 1914 in North of Boston, Frost's second poetry collection.[1] The poem, 42 lines in length, does not strictly follow a particular form (instead consisting of mixed iambs), nor does it follow a standard rhyme scheme.
My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
Robert Frost, 1914
After Apple-Picking | |
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by Robert Frost | |
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North of Boston/After Apple-picking at Wikisource |
The poem describes a pastoral scene of New England life in autumn. The narrator is recalling their day spent picking apples on a ladder. Throughout the poem, the narrator expresses a desire for rest, using phrases such as "I am drowsing off" (8) and "I am overtired" (28).
They reflect on their mortality, and whether they will ever again wake up and have the opportunity to pick apples. The poem concludes with the narrator ostensibly falling asleep.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
— Robert Frost, After Apple-Picking, Lines 37-42
The poem's first line is in iambic hexameter, the second is in iambic dimeter, and in the third line shifts to iambic pentameter. The majority of the lines continue in iambic pentameter. In lines 13-17, the meter alternates between iambic pentameter and dimeter. The remainder of the poem is composed of variations on the iambic meter, containing iambic pentameter, trimeter, dimeter, and monometer.
The rhyme scheme of the poem is inconsistent beyond the first few lines. Lines 1-4 follow an ABBA rhyme pattern, lines 5-6 follow CC, and lines 7-9 follow DED. After this, however, there is no standard pattern, with lines instead rhyming sporadically.
Scholarly interpretation of the poem often focuses on themes of sleep, dreaming, and the somber conclusion to the piece, in which the narrator wonders if their oncoming sleep is a normal slumber, or a "long sleep."[2] The varying meter of the poem is thought to be indicative of the narrator's fitful state of mind as they drift off to sleep.[3] The rhyme scheme of the poem is similarly scattered, lending itself to a similar interpretation.
The process of picking apples is symbolic through both the action itself and the apparatus used. The apple-picking ladder is a symbol, both metaphorical and real, that points to a destination beyond itself, while the act of picking apples is a metaphor for the power of labor. The power of labor is its ability to go beyond natural occurrences such as the shifting of seasons, or bodily exhaustion.[4]
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