C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Apple

The apple blossoms’ shower of pearl,
Though blent with rosier hue,
As beautiful as woman’s blush,
As evanescent, too.

L. E. Landon.

What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind’s restless wings,
When, from the orchard-row, he pours
Its fragrance though our open doors;
A world of blossoms for the bee,
Flowers for the sick girl’s silent room,
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
We plant with the apple tree.

Bryant.

And what is more melancholy than the old apple-trees that linger about the spot where once stood a homestead, but where there is now only a ruined chimney rising out of a grassy and weed-grown cellar? They offer their fruit to every wayfarer—apples that are bitter-sweet with the moral of time’s vicissitude.

Nath. Hawthorne.

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