"And was my face in your dream exactly like it is here?" she asked, looking up that I might see her fully.
"It was more sad. You had a brokenhearted look in your eyes. What I saw in my dream was more like your face in your sleep, when I met you afterwards."
"What made you dream of me?"
"I cannot tell."
"Had you ever seen me?"
"Never."
"Nor heard me described?"
"No."
"How quickly the swallows fly!" she exclaimed, pointing in the air. "What would you give to be able to live all day long in that pure blue? This is a beautiful rose you have given me. How can the thick, ugly, common earth yield such lovely things?"