noon
Moreover , there is proof that a good many of those accounts are quite as accurate as what a fairly decent newspaper gives us nowadays for truth ; and they are not , as a whole , more nasty , though they are differently worded , because in those days Boileau was calling ` a cat a cat , and Rolet a rascal , ' and even people who were not poets called a spade a spade . A little rain fell during the night before Saint John 's Eve , but the morning of the twenty-third of June was clear and calm , and the air had cooled a little . In Rome , for those who do not fear a little sunshine , June is the most beautiful of all the months , and the loveliest June days are those that follow showery nights . Then all the trees of the great villas are in full leaf and all the flowers are in bloom : the gorgeous , stiff-necked , courtly flowers in the formal beds and borders of the Pope 's gardens ; the soft , sweet-scented , shapely carnations that grow in broken pots and pitchers outside the humble windows of Trastevere ; the stately lilies in the marble fountains behind the princely palace , and the roses that run riot in the poor Jewish burial-ground halfway up the Aventine ; the heavy-scented tuberose and the rich blossom of bitter orange in the high Colonna gardens , and the sweet basil growing in a rusty iron pail in the belfry of Santa Maria Maggiore , where the old bell-ringer eats the savoury leaves with his coarse bread and cheese , while he rests after ringing the bells for high mass and waits till it is time to ring them again at noon , and he waters the plant from his drinking pitcher . Then the wild onion is in flower that scares away witches and keeps off the Evil Eye , and from all the broad Campagna the scent of new-mown hay is wafted through the city gates . Then , though the sun does not yet scorch the traveller , the shade is already a heavenly refreshment ; and though a man is not parched with thirst , a cold draught from the Fountain of Egeria is more delicious than any wine , and under the ancient trees of the pagan grove the rose-purple cyclamens and the dark wood-violets are still blooming side by side . The air is full of the breath of life , the deep earth is still soft , and all trees and flowers and grasses still feel the tender youth of the spring that is not yet quite gone .