He got out of bed and peeped through the blinds. To the east and opposite to him gardens and an apple-orchard lay, and there in strange liquid tranquility hung the morning star, and rose, rilling into the dusk of night the first grey of dawn. The street beneath its autumn leaves was vacant, charmed, deserted.

The Walter De La Mare Omnibus: Henry Brocken ; The Return ; Memoirs of a Midget (ed. 1933)