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 yet waking, all at once.
By: George Eliot (a/k/a Mary Ann Evans)
I wonder if George Eliot would have been so famous if allowed to publish under her own name.
For more musings, thank our host, Carolyn Gail, at Sweet Home and Garden Chicago.