When I was very small, about four years old, I suppose, a line of poetry
entered into my consciousness, never to leave it again:
Rye pappels drop about my head.
I had no idea what rye pappels might be, but they held a magic, an
enchantment for me, and when in later life I identified them as the ripe
apples of Andrew Marvell's poem they had lost nothing of their enchantment
in the process of growing up.
Victoria Sackville-West, The Illustrated Garden Book
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