Roses by George Eliot

May 1, 2013

You love the roses - so do I. I wish the sky would rain down roses, as they rain from off the shaken bush. Why will it not? Then all the valley would be pink and white and soft to tread on. They would fall as light as feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be Like sleeping and like waking, all at once

 

 

 

 

 

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