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De la Mare, Walter, 1873-1956

"Henry Brocken His Travels and Adventures in the Rich, Strange, Scarce-Imaginable Regions of Romance"

Here a thread-like fountain plashed in its basin,
the one thing astir in this cool retreat. Here, too, grew orange
trees, with their unripe fruit upon them.
But I continued, and venturing out upon the terrace overlooking the
sea, saw again with a kind of astonishment the doctor's green,
unwieldy boat beneath me and the emerald of the nearer waters tossing
above the yellow sands.
Here I had sat awhile lost in ease when I heard a footstep approaching
and the rhythmical rustling of drapery, and knew eyes were now
regarding me that I feared, yet much desired to meet.
"Oh me!" said a clear yet almost languid voice. "How comes any man so
softly?"
Turning, I looked in the face of one how long a shade!
I strove in vain to hide my confusion. This lady only smiled the
deeper out of her baffling eyes.
"If you could guess," she said presently, "how my heart leapt in me,
as if, poor creature, any oars of earth could bring it ease, you would
think me indeed as desolate as I am. To hear the bird scream,
Traveller! I hastened from the gardens as if the black ships of the
Greeks were come to take me.


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