She seemed to be travelling through a world of opal colour, arched by skies of pale green, melting into rose above, and daffodil gold below.

All about her, blue and purple shadows were rising, like waves interfused with moonlight, flooding over the land.

Where did the lake end and the shore begin?
All was drowned in the same dim wash of blue--the olives and figs, the reddish earth, the white of the cherries, the pale pink of the almonds.
In front the lights of Genzano gleamed upon the tall cliff.

But in this lonely path all was silence and woody fragrance; the honeysuckles threw breaths across their path; tall orchises, white and stately, broke here and there from the darkness of the banks.

In spite of pain and weakness her senses seemed to be flooded with beauty.