And the delicate autumnal fruit of thy soul's earner longing is gone from thee, and all things that are dainty and that are splendid are departed from thee, and never shalt thou find them any more.

In the midst of the street of it, even on this side, and on that of the river, grew the tree of life, producing twelve crops of fruit, and ripening its fruit in succession every month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.