The shrubs seemed bejewelled.

The breeze was so faint that it was a smile, not a sigh." She listened to him, placid, deep, and limpid as a mirror.
"The whole of the ferryman's family," he continued, "was not there.
The young daughter was dreaming on a rustic seat, far enough away not to hear them.

I saw the light-green shadow that the tree cast upon her, there at the edge of the forest's violet mystery.
"And I can still hear the flies buzzing in that Lombardy summer over the winding river which unfolded its charms as we walked along the banks." "The greatest impression I ever had of noonday sunlight," he continued, "was in London, in a museum.

An Italian boy in the dress of his country, a model, was standing in front of a picture which represented a sunlight effect on a Roman landscape.

The boy held his head stretched out.