... that evening. I feel as now I write the delicious summer breeze of Snowdon blowing on my forehead. The sky, which for some time had been growing very rich, grew at every moment rarer in colour, and glassed itself in the llyns which shone with an enjoyment of the beauty like the magic mirrors of Snowdonian spirits. The loveliness indeed was so bewitching that one or two of the Gypsies—a race who are, as I had already noticed, among the few uncultivated people ... — Aylwin • Theodore Watts-Dunton
... peaks That melted in the warm blue skies, Below, the purple-shadowed creeks That glassed the birds of Paradise— A bridal knot, it hung in heaven; And, all around, the still lagoon From bloom of dawn to blush of even Curved like ... — Collected Poems - Volume Two (of 2) • Alfred Noyes
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