Maintains the bloom and freshness of eighteen.
“Without this fruit so precious, where, Oh! where
Would be their godlike strength, and beauty rare?
Each goddess would resemble Hela grim,
Did not this juice invigorate each limb.
E’en as each furrow on the sandy waste
Is levell’d by the wind, and disappears,
Thus full and white becomes the flabby breast,
As when the funeral mound its snowy vestment wears.
“Just as the spark ignites the branches dry,