Poetry of Amy Lowell
A Dome of Many-coloured Glass

Apples of Hesperides

Glinting golden through the trees,
 Apples of Hesperides!
Through the moon-pierced warp of night
Shoot pale shafts of yellow light,
Swaying to the kissing breeze
Swings the treasure, golden-gleaming,
 Apples of Hesperides!

Far and lofty yet they glimmer,
 Apples of Hesperides!
Blinded by their radiant shimmer,
Pushing forward just for these;
Dew-besprinkled, bramble-marred,
Poor duped mortal, travel-scarred,
Always thinking soon to seize
And possess the golden-glistening
 Apples of Hesperides!

Orbed, and glittering, and pendent,
 Apples of Hesperides!
Not one missing, still transcendent,
Clustering like a swarm of bees.
Yielding to no man's desire,
Glowing with a saffron fire,
Splendid, unassailed, the golden
 Apples of Hesperides!