Toward heaven still,(line 2)
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. (line 6-8)
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.(lines 9-12)