I'm reading a very interesting book right now on the origin of colours for painting. In the chapter on orange, this poem by Rilke was mentioned. I was so intrigued by the title I just had to seek it out. And what a joy it is.
Dance the Orange (from The Sonnets to Orpheus I, 15) - Rilke
Wait ... that taste ... it's already flown.
... just a little music, a stamping, a drone:
You warm maidens, you silent maidens,
dance the taste of fruit we experience!
Dance the orange. Who can forget it?
How, drowning in itself, it struggles to
deny its sweetness. You possess it.
It preciously converts itself to you.
Dance the orange. The warmer season
weave around you, so it ripely shines
in the air of its homeland! Radiant, reveal
fragrance after fragrance! Create the liaison
between the pure, forbidding rind,
and the juice, with which this happy fruit is filled!