"He whose head winters have whitened has bad enough of hoar frost.

Leaves are not falling from the trees yet, and the sky smiles on the city lovingly; but when the grapevines grow yellow-leaved, when snow falls on the Alban hills, and the gods visit the Campania with piercing wind, who knows but I may remove with my entire household to my quiet country-seat ?" "Wouldst thou leave Rome ?" inquired Vinicius, with sudden alarm.
"I have wished to do so this long time, for it is quieter in Sicily and safer." And again he fell to praising his gardens, his herds, his house hidden in green, and the hills grown over with thyme and savory, among which were swarms of buzzing bees.

But Vinicius paid no heed to that bucolic note; and from thinking only of this, that he might lose Lygia, he looked toward Petronius as if expecting salvation from him alone.
Meanwhile Petronius, sitting near Pomponia, was admiring the view of the setting sun, the garden, and the people standing near the fish-pond.
Their white garments on the dark background of the myrtles gleamed like gold from the evening rays.

On the sky the evening light had begun to assume purple and violet hues, and to change like an opal.

A strip of the sky became lily-colored.