I hung in gardens of emperors and kings, A jewel of purple in medieval springs. Preserved in brandy, baked into a pie, Sought by monks where old orchards lie. Not apple nor pear, though kin I assume What fruit am I?

I travel the world but never walk You can hear me but I can’t talk I carve mountains grain by grain And can shape deserts without touching sand

What's strong enough to smash ships but still fears the sun?

I shimmer beyond your night-lit skies A chained princess where starlight lies Not a goddess yet named the same A spiral sea of cosmic flame. What am I?

I sprout from a head, but I'm not a horn. Some will try to collect me, their wall to adorn. Mostly worn my males, it's true. But there are cases where females have me too.