But some may see her, with a palfried band
Of serge-stoled maidens, through the drowsy land
Of autumn glimmer,—when are sadly strewn
The red leaves, and, broad in the east, the moon
Hangs, full of frost, a lustrous globe of gleams,—
Faint on the mooning hills as shapes in dreams.
PEREDUR, THE SON OF EVRAWC
Beyond the walls, past wood and twilight field,