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Skywards a thousand trees rise tall and straight, apple’d with od’orous fruitage passing rare:
Here th’ Orange painteth on her dainty freight the hues that burnt in Daphné’s burnisht hair:
Droops low crusht earthwards by her juicy weight, the Citron glowing with her saffron gear:
Lemons with scented spherelets deckt and drest mock budding honours of the maiden’s breast.