This has been a bumper year for British apples.

Here is Andrew Marvell, that most engaging of metaphysical poets, celebrating the harvest season in the 17th century. Sir Isaac Newton would have pondered falling apples at much the same time for his own intellectual purposes!

from THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN

What wondrous life is this I lead!

Ripe apples drop about my head;

The luscious clusters of the vine

Upon my mouth do crush their wine;

The nectarine, and curious peach,

Into my hands themselves do reach;

Stumbling on melons, as I pass,

Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.

Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,

Withdraws into its happiness;

The mind, that ocean where each kind

Does straight its own resemblance find;

Yet it creates, transcending these,

Far other worlds, and other seas,

Annihilating all that's made

To a green thought in a green shade.

Such was that happy Garden-state

While man there walked without a mate;

After a place so pure and sweet,

What other help could yet be meet!

But 'twas beyond a mortal's share

To wander solitary there:

Two paradises 'twere in one,

To live in Paradise alone.