This is lovely! I really do need to get around to reading the book.
I'm very pleased my poem recalled this for you, it is very much in the style I aim for. 

Marion 

--- On Tue, 6/1/09, Arthur Seeley <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

> From: Arthur Seeley <[log in to unmask]>
> Subject: Marion: Town Song
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Date: Tuesday, 6 January, 2009, 8:25 PM
> This is the passage I mentioned:
>  
> She became aware of something about her. With an effort she
> roused herself to see what it was that penetrated her
> consciousness. The tall white lilies were reeling in the
> moonlight, and the air was charged with their perfume, as
> with a presence. Mrs. Morel gasped slightly in fear. She
> touched the big, pallid flowers on their petals, then
> shivered. They seemed to be stretching in the moonlight. She
> put her hand into one white bin: the gold scarcely showed on
> her fingers by moonlight. She bent down to look at the
> binful of yellow pollen; but it only appeared dusky. Then
> she drank a deep draught of the scent. It almost made her
> dizzy. 
>    Mrs. Morel leaned on the garden gate, looking out, and
> she lost herself awhile. She did not know what she thought.
> Except for a slight feeling of sickness, and her
> consciousness in the child, herself melted out like scent
> into the shiny, pale air. After a time the child, too,
> melted with her in the mixing-pot of moonlight, and she
> rested with the hills and lilies and houses, all swum
> together in a kind of swoon. 
>    When she came to herself she was tired for sleep.
> Languidly she looked about her; the clumps of white phlox
> seemed like bushes spread with linen; a moth ricochetted
> over them, and right across the garden. Following it with
> her eye roused her. A few whiffs of the raw, strong scent of
> phlox invigorated her. She passed along the path, hesitating
> at the white rose-bush. It smelled sweet and simple. She
> touched the white ruffles of the roses. Their fresh scent
> and cool, soft leaves reminded her of the morning-time and
> sunshine. She was very fond of them. But she was tired, and
> wanted to sleep. In the mysterious out-of-doors she felt
> forlorn. 
>  
> Can you see why your poem recalled it for me? Arthur
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