“Lo, now, the shadow!” quoth she, breaking off,
“We are in the shadow.”  Then did Gladys turn,
And, O, the mountain with the purple peaks
Was close at hand.  It cast a shadow out,
And they were in it:  and she saw the snow,
And under that the rocks, and under that
The pines, and then the pasturage; and saw
Numerous dips, and undulations rare,
Running down seaward, all astir with lithe
Long canes, and lofty feathers; for the palms
And spice trees of the south, nay, every growth,
Meets in that island.

So that woman ran
The boat ashore, and Gladys set her foot
Thereon.  Then all at once much laughter rose;
Invisible folk set up exultant shouts,
“It all belongs to Gladys”; and she ran
And hid herself among the nearest trees
And panted, shedding tears.

So she looked round,
And saw that she was in a banyan grove,
Full of wild peacocks,—­pecking on the grass,
A flickering mass of eyes, blue, green, and gold,
Or reaching out their jewelled necks, where high
They sat in rows along the boughs.  No tree
Cumbered with creepers let the sunshine through,
But it was caught in scarlet cups, and poured
From these on amber tufts of bloom, and dropped
Lower on azure stars.  The air was still,
As if awaiting somewhat, or asleep,
And Gladys was the only thing that moved,
Excepting,—­no, they were not birds,—­what then? 
Glorified rainbows with a living soul? 
While they passed through a sunbeam they were seen,
Not otherwhere, but they were present yet
In shade.  They were at work, pomegranate fruit
That lay about removing,—­purple grapes,
That clustered in the path, clearing aside. 
Through a small spot of light would pass and go,
The glorious happy mouth and two fair eyes
Of somewhat that made rustlings where it went;
But when a beam would strike the ground sheer down,
Behold them! they had wings, and they would pass
One after other with the sheeny fans,
Bearing them slowly, that their hues were seen,
Tender as russet crimson dropt on snows,
Or where they turned flashing with gold and dashed
With purple glooms.  And they had feet, but these
Did barely touch the ground.  And they took heed
Not to disturb the waiting quietness;
Nor rouse up fawns, that slept beside their dams;
Nor the fair leopard, with her sleek paws laid
Across her little drowsy cubs; nor swans,
That, floating, slept upon a glassy pool;
Nor rosy cranes, all slumbering in the reeds,
With heads beneath their wings.  For this, you know,
Was Eden.  She was passing through the trees
That made a ring about it, and she caught
A glimpse of glades beyond.  All she had seen
Was nothing to them; but words are not made
To tell that tale.  No wind was let to blow,
And all the doves were bidden to hold their peace. 
Why?  One was working in a valley near,