POMORUM PATRONA 



AWNS and sunsets of red and gold shall 

 now be seen where the fruits of the 

 orchards, having reached ripeness, wait for 

 man or the autumnal equinox to pluck 

 them from their parent boughs. Everywhere, through 

 the thinning foliage, above the trunks, amid the 

 twisted knees and elbows of branch and bough, an 

 apple-harvest flames. From orange to crimson, from 

 amber to sea-green, the colour harmonies pass, and 

 intermingle in streaks and splashes and mottled jewels 

 of all ruddy and golden tints that ever the sun painted. 

 Pomaceous scents steal over the dewy grasses ; dim 

 glades open along the avenues of the tree-trunks, and 

 shine out deeply blue against the brightness of fruit and 

 foliage. Here and there glimmer little hills of light 

 that twinkle through the orchard distances, and else- 

 where ungathered apples dot the grass with topaz and 

 ruby. Shadow there is none in the cones and mounds 

 and scattered pyramids of fruit, for each globe of 

 scarlet, or lemon, or golden-green flings light on the 

 round bosom of its neighbour ; hence, viewed afar 

 off, the whole mass of vivid colour and reflected 

 radiance beams forth unfretted by any shade, and 



