Andre Paul Guillaume Gide (22 November 1869 – 19 February 1951 / Paris)
Let me tell you of the pomegrante; of its juice,
sourish like the juice of green raspberries;
Its wax-like flower the color of fruit;
Its closely guarded treasure;
Its partitions in the hive;
Its abundance of flavor;
Its pentagonal architecture;
Its skin giving in;
Its grains bursting;
Grains of blood dripping into azure cupts;
Drops of gold falling into plates of enameled bronze....
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