“Why, he wondered, should he remember her suddenly, on such a day, watching the rain falling on the apple trees?”

“remember the golden apple-trees;O, do not pity them, as you watch them dropone by one,for they fall exhausted, numb, blindbut in certain ecstasy,for theirs is the hunger for Paradise.”

“He wondered if she wondered if he were watching her.”

“His jaw was slack and his mouth open, and he wondered if perhaps he would drown eventually; drowned by the falling rain.”

“Suddenly, I was stopped by a quiet song . .Somebody stood, swaying slowly on the road,In the darkest shadow by a puddle,And low above it a small tree grew . .It might’ve been a wild cherry tree . .He kept singing, watching the puddle fill . .I dragged the pine through the water,And with my other hand steadied my sack,Where a bottle of red vino dangled . .He didn’t move, but kept on singing . .Should I have stopped thereAnd joined his singing? . .Had he foundThe one happy tree? . .No one knows where it grows—Or what it looks like . .And who is allowed to recognize it? . .I never stood under it,Even to wait for rain to passOr watch between the dropsThe silent froth appear . .Swaying, he kept on singing . .Otherwise, he would have fallenAnd the rain stopped . .He danced his own rainUnder that tree . .I can’t do such things . .Perhaps it was a wolf? . .”

“The apple does not fall far from the tree.”