Now on the honeyed lattice hangs the fruit as gold as any minted piece of coin, while from the scented fruit the velvet bees their liquid sweet of summer's fire purloin. They swoon above the clustered, golden fruit that came from that far clime, Hesperides. They murmur through the amber afternoon as languorous as leaves upon lime trees. Now fades the dappled sunlight from the glade. The shadows lay their purple-dark upon this amber world of scent, while silence floats as still and light as any gliding swan ... When ermine leaves of winter spread their frost, within the milliard cells of honeycomb will be a honey rich and potent-sweet, a summer's fire encased in waxen dome! |