Along their banks the dense, evergreen Boskage lay soft and rich as velvet.
"Reminiscences of a South African Pioneer"
W. C. Scully
I often picture the rounded sandhills stretching from the Gonubie Mouth to the Nahoon, with the dark, olive-green Boskage that clothed their curves with beauty, and the veil of orange tinted mystery that at dawn hung like a curtain across that region where sea and sky awaited, breathless, the advent of day.
"Reminiscences of a South African Pioneer"
W. C. Scully
They followed the winding footway that led toward Como, close to the lake-side, past the gates of villas and the walls of vineyards, through little hamlets propped on a dozen arches, and bathing their feet and their pendant tatters in the gray-green ripple; past frescoed walls and crumbling campaniles and grassy village piazzas, and the mouth of soft ravines that wound upward, through belts of swinging vine and vaporous olive and splendid chestnut, to high ledges where white chapels gleamed amid the paler Boskage, and bare cliff-surfaces, with their sun-cracked lips, drank in the azure light.
"Roderick Hudson"
Henry James