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What Victoria had once imagined the desert to be of vast emptiness, and what she found it to be of teeming life, was like the difference between a gold-bright autumn leaf seen by the naked eye, and the same leaf swarming under a powerful microscope.
Not to everyone is it given to take a wide view of things to look over the far, pale streams, the purple heather, and moonlit pools of the wild marches, where reeds stand black against the sundown, and from long distance comes the cry of a curlew nor to everyone to gaze from steep cliffs over the wine-dark, shadowy sea or from high mountainsides to see crowned chaos, smoking with mist, or gold-bright in the sun.
I rode past the lovely wooden bridges where the balconied houses totter to each other across the canals in dim splendour of carving and age; where the many-coloured native life crowds down to the river steps and cleanses its flower-bright robes, its gold-bright brass vessels in the shining stream, and my heart said only Vanna, Vanna!
There was much gold-bright brass; there were jars and boxes painted curiously; and we were served by an apple-cheeked old lady in a white cap, whom Miss Rivers and the Chaperon thought adorable.
The Anglo-Saxon poetry, for example, had been rhythmical and alliterative. It was commonly written in lines containing four rhythmical accents and with three of the accented syllables alliterating. Reste hine thâ rúm-heort; réced hlifade Geáp and góld-fâh, gäst inne swäf. Rested him then the great-hearted; the hall towered Roomy and gold-bright, the guest slept within.
Sitting at her window, under the moon, 'a gold-bright moth slow-spinning up the sky, she watched the darkness hungrily, as though it were a great thought into whose heart she was trying to see. Now and then she stroked herself, getting strange comfort out of the presence of her body. She had that old unhappy feeling of having two selves within her.
Already the strange airs of her unknown world were breathing about me, and as yet I knew not the things that belonged unto my peace. We glided along the straight military road from Peshawar to Nowshera, the gold-bright sun dazzling in its whiteness a strange drive through the flat, burned country, with the ominous Kabul River flowing through it.
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