Relaxing me from head to feet. Love masters me, the bitter sweet. O'er thy limbs breathing; Yea, Eros now, the god born blind. Sweeps my soul like the mountain wind. Through the oaks seething.
Edna St. Vincent MillayAbout author
- Author's profession: Author
- Nationality: american
- Born: February 22, 1892
- Died: October 19, 1950
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Weeding the peony hedge I hear the windfalls in the orchard; hear them strike the ground, hear them strike against branches as they fall to the ground. The immemorial smell of apples, old as the sea. Mary makes jelly. Up from the kitchen, up the stairs and into all the rooms comes the smell of apples.
John Cheever