“From land to land she raging flies,    The green fruit falleth in her wake, And harvest fields beneath her eyes    To earth the grain unripened shake. […] Without an adventure he reached the court and delivered up the golden fruit. […] Joy and peace and the fruits of peace reigned year after year. […] Now, the only food of the people who lived there was the sweet fruit of the lotus plant. […] Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave To each, but whose did receive of them, And taste, to him the gushing of the wave Far far away did seem to mourn and rave On alien shores; and if his fellow spake, His voice was thin, as voices from the grave; And deep-asleep he seem’d, yet all awake, And music in his ears his beating heart did make.

Sometimes Phaëthon, his rash, inexperienced son, would take the reins and drive the solar chariot too near the earth, causing the fruits to perish, and the grass to wither, and the wells to dry up. […] 17 (5) That the Aryan tribes (from which the Indians, Persians, Phrygians, Greeks, Romans, Germans, Norsemen, Russians, and Celts are descended) “started from a common centre” in the highlands of Northern India, “and that from their ancient home they must have carried away, if not the developed myth, yet the quickening germ from which might spring leaves and fruits, varying in form and hue according to the soil to which it should be committed and the climate under which the plant might reach maturity.” […] She waits for each and other, She waits for all men born; Forgets the earth her mother, The life of fruits and corn; And spring and seed and swallow Take wing for her and follow Where summer song rings hollow, And flowers are put to scorn. […] Pomona, presiding over fruit trees. Vertumnus, the husband of Pomona, was guardian of fruit trees, gardens, and vegetables.