noon
It 's almost as if God were an artist and had spilt the colors from His palette . And yet not that , quite . The colors are more like jewels . The morning 's opals ; the noon 's pearls ; the evening wears rubies in her hair . There 's a sort of beauty that makes one ache . It seems to me sometimes as if I could n't stand it -- just the way the Grand Canyon got hold of me . Does n't it affect you that way -- you who have so much poetry in you ? ''