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"It is always dawn for St. Helena as Veronese saw her at the window. Through the still morning air the angels bring her the symbol of Gods pain. The cool breezes lift the gold threads from her brow.

On that little hill by the city of Florence where the lovers of Giorgione are lying, it is always the soltice of noon, -- of noon made so langorous by summer suns, that hardly can the slim girl dip into the marble tank the round bubble of clear glass, and the long fingers of the lute player rest idly upon the chords --

It is twilight always for the dancing nymphs whom Corot set free among the silver poplars of France. In eternal twilight they move, those diaphanous figures, whose tremulous white feet seem not to touch the dew drenched grass they tread on."

Oscar Wilde.

Transcription Notes:
solstice