It is dreamland, painted in the imagination’s most delicate tints;
it is color etherealized. One shade melts into the other, so that
you cannot tell where one ends and the other begins, and yet they
are all there. No forms—it is all faint, dreamy color music, a
far-away, long-drawn-out melody on muted strings. Is not all
life’s beauty high, and delicate, and pure like this night? Give
it brighter colors, and it is no longer so beautiful.