Now it's nearing night on the first day of spring, and you could see how loath day was to be going for even the short time until the rising of the sun again.

And though there was a chill on the canals, yet there was great color to the sunset, the red of it on the water ebbing into orange, and then to purple, and losing itself in the olive pools near the mooring-ties.

And a little wind came up from the Greek islands, and now surged and fluttered, the way you'd think a harper might be playing.

You'd hear no sound, but the melody was there.

It was the rhythm of spring, that the old people recognize.
But the young people would know it was spring, too, by token of the gaiety that was in the air.