In Your Mother'S Apple-Orchard, Just A Year Ago, Last Spring: Do You Remember, Yvonne! The Dear Trees Lavishing Rain Of Their Starry Blossoms To Make You A Coronet? Do You Ever Remember, Yvonne? As I Remember Yet. In Your Mother'S Apple-Orchard, When The World Was Left Behind: You Were Shy, So Shy, Yvonne! But Your Eyes Were Calm And Kind. We Spoke Of The Apple Harvest, When The Cider Press Is Set, And Such-Like Trifles, Yvonne! That Doubtless You Forget. In The Still, Soft Breton Twilight, We Were Silent; Words Were Few, Till Your Mother Came Out Chiding, For The Grass Was Bright With Dew: But I Know Your Heart Was Beating, Like A Fluttered, Frightened Dove. Do You Ever Remember, Yvonne? That First Faint Flush Of Love? In The Fulness Of Midsummer, When The Apple-Bloom Was Shed, Oh, Brave Was Your Surrender, Though Shy The Words You Said. I Was Glad, So Glad, Yvonne! To Have Led You Home At Last; Do You Ever Remember, Yvonne! How Swiftly The Days Passed?