I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight (line 9)
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell, (lines 13-15)
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. (lines 24-29)