And it was at length to a noiseless Fair, far from all vanity, that I
came at sunset--the cypresses of a solitary graveyard. I was tired out
and desired only rest; so dismounting and leading Rosinante, I turned
aside willingly into its peace.
It seemed I had entered a new earth. The lane above had wandered on in
the gloaming of its hedges and over-arching trees. Here, all the
clouds of sunset stood, caught up in burning gold. Even as I paused,
dazzled a moment by the sudden radiance, from height to height the
wild bright rose of evening ran. Not a tottering stone, black,
well-nigh shapeless with age, not a green bush, but seemed to dwell
unconsumed in its own fire above this desolate ground. The trees that
grew around me--willow and yew, thorn and poplar--were but flaming
cages for the wild birds that perched in their branches.
Above these sound-dulled mansions trod lightly, as if of thought,
Rosinante's gilded shoes. I wandered on in a strange elation of mind,
filled with a desperate desire ever to remember how flamed this rose
between earth and sky, how throbbed this jargon of delight.
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