This poem at a first glance seemed to be about picking apples (a cool thing to do at Adrian's Orchard in the fall for those who are looking to do something outside this fall), and the imagery painted this barrel of apples that was picked by standing on a "two pointed ladder sticking through the tree" but I Frost was trying to paint another picture. Through this poem one can also see the apple picker, who retires from apple picking ("I'm done with apple picking now), who used to dream of life ("magnified apples appear and disappear") who lead a great life ("for I had to much") and is awaiting great the apple orchard in the ("long sleep")
As I read this poem I pictured this old man, a lonely old man who was losing his apple business to robots (...that might be a stretch but still) he's somewhat lamenting his retirement. Which I find amusing because as people grow older they wish to retire, yet once this magical moment comes people are wishing for the next thing. What does a man do after apple-picking?
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