being clothed in different shapes of flesh.

To return to my dream. I, Olaf, or, rather, my spirit, dwelling in the
Wanderer's body, that body which I had just seen lying in the grave,
stood at night in a great columned building, which I knew to be
the temple of some god. At my feet lay a basin of clear water; the
moonlight, which was almost as bright as that of day, showed me my
reflection in the water. It was like to that of the Wanderer as I had
seen him lying in his oak coffin in the mound, only younger than he had
seemed to be in the coffin. Moreover, he wore the same armour that the
man in the coffin wore, and at his side hung the red, cross-handled
sword. There he stood in the temple alone, and looked across a plain,
green with crops, on which sat two mighty images as high as tall pines,
looked to a great river on whose banks grew trees such as I had never
beheld: tall, straight trees, surmounted by a stiff crown of leaves.
Beyond this river lay a white, flat-roofed city, and in it were other
great columned temples.

The man in whom I, Olaf the Dane, seemed to dwell in my dream turned,
and behind him saw a range of naked hills of brown rock, and in them the
mouth of a desolate valley where was no green thing. Presently he became
aware that he was no longer alone. At his side stood a woman. She was
a very beautiful woman, unlike anyone I, Olaf, had ever seen. Her shape
was tall and slender, her eyes were large, dark and soft as a deer's,
her features were small and straight, save the mouth, of which the lips
were somewhat full. The face, which was dark-hued, like her hair and
eyes, was sad, but wore a sweet and haunting smile. It was much such a
face as that upon the statue of the goddess which we had found in the
Wanderer's tomb, and the dress she wore beneath her cloak was like to
the dress of the goddess. She was speaking earnestly.