midnight
I shall see the Loggia of the Pope and the Fonte Gaja , and my beautiful black and white Cathedral once more -- that beloved dwelling-place of the Blessed Virgin , where a part of my soul has ever remained to pray in a spot that my knees know well . ` I always have a vision of that spot clearly before me , and when I go back I shall kneel on the exact stone where I always used to . I know it as well as if my knees had left a deep hollow there . And there too I shall find that portion of my soul which still lingers there in prayer beneath the starry blue vault above , which is mirrored in the marble floor like a midnight sky in a placid lake . ` Assuredly nothing there is changed . In the costly chapel , full of palpitating shadow and mysterious gloom , alive with the glint of precious marble , the lamps burned softly , all their light seemingly gathered into the little globe of oil that fed the flame as into some limpid topaz . Little by little , under my intent gaze , the sculptured stone grew less coldly white , took on warm ivory tints , became gradually penetrated by the pallid life of the celestial beings , and over the marble forms crept the faint transparency of angelic flesh .