are a rotund tree, chunky, like a little body, and the peach leaf is a lance 
with which fairy warriors might wage war. So delicate in green and 
veining, and with such a tang to the taste as distinct as an olive’s, 
the peach leaf is itself alone, and has no relations. The peach blooms 
early and has a roseate tint, and not many fruits are so beautiful as the 
peach, with its perfection of shade and many hues, varying from dim 
green to deep crimson. I am glad I planted peaches on this farm. My 
sagacity is something to wonder at. I knew my business, that is clear, 
THE RAVINE 
When apple branches stoop low beneath their burdens of delicious fruit 
(how sweet the odor of apples when you wander slowly through a laden 
orchard!), and when peach-trees, flush from their thicket of deep green 
leaves, their surprise of crimson fruit, and when, from their delicate 
stems leaning gracefully, the yellow pears, flushed with reds, hang in 
clusters, what farmer but must be proud of himself and be mindful of 
the sweet Providence that keeps orchard trees, unforgetful of what 
fruits each tree ought to bring to harvest; for I recall that every tree 
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