The perfume of the flowers and of the bay tree are wafted on high, like incense. The birds sing sweet songs of praise to… — William Wendt Copy Share Image
The warm green of the grass, sprinkled with flowers of many hues, is a carpet whereon we walk with noiseless tread. — William Wendt Copy Share Image
I would dearly love to take up the brush again, but I realize that I am an old man and that I cannot set… — William Wendt Copy Share Image
