But life will suit
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit,
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1812–18) canto 3, st. 34
But life will suit
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit,
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1812–18) canto 3, st. 34