under the same arches where Dante saw it. We drank of it together, and walked together that evening on the hills above, where the fireflies among the scented thickets shone fitfully in the still undarkened air. How they shone! moving like fine-broken starlight through the purple leaves. How they shone! through the sunset that faded into thunderous night as I enetered Siena three days beofre, the white edges of the mountainous clouds still lighted from the west, and the open golden sky calm behind the gate of Siena's heart, with its still golden words, Cor magis tibi Sena pandit, and the fireflies everywhere in sky and cloud rising and falling, mixed with the lightening, and more intense than stars.
John Ruskin. Praeterita.
Photo here
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