GARDENS IN LITERATURE 
she walked acted as a sounding board to this delicious 
voice. The little path wound on and on between two 
running rills of water, which slipped incessantly away 
under the broad and yellow-tipped leaves of dwarf palms, 
making a music so faint that it was more like a remem¬ 
bered sound in the mind than one which slid upon the ear. 
On either hand towered a jungle of trees brought to this 
home in the desert from all parts of the world . . . 
thickets of scarlet geranium flamed in the twilight. The 
hybiscus lifted languidly its frail and rosy cup, and the 
red-gold oranges gleamed amid leaves that looked as if 
they had been polished by an attentive fairy. . . . Under 
the trees the sand was yellow, of a shade so voluptu¬ 
ously beautiful that she longed to touch it with her bare 
feet. . . . Never before had she fully understood the en¬ 
chantment of green . . . rough, furry green of geranium 
leaves, silver green of olives, black green of distant palms 
from which the sun held aloof, faded green of the eucalyp¬ 
tus, rich, emerald green of fan-shaped, sunlit palms, hot 
sultry green of bamboos, dull, drowsy green of mulberry- 
trees and brooding chestnuts. It was a choir of colours 
in one colour, like a choir of boys all with treble voices 
singing in the sun. 
“Gold flickered everywhere, weaving patterns of en¬ 
chantment, quivering, vital patterns of burning beauty. 
Down the narrow branching paths that led to inner mys¬ 
teries the light ran in and out, peeping between the 
divided leaves of plants, gliding over the slippery edges 
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