... which is composed of divine proportions. And for this reason the same span of time in which the contemplation of a painted beauty is contained cannot give a described beauty; and he sins against nature who would put through the ear that which ought to be put through the eye. Let the office of music enter there, and do not put into it the science of painting, the true imitator of the natural figures of all things. What moves you, O man, to abandon your own dwellings in the city, and to leave your kinsfolk and friends, and to betake yourself to country places among mountains and valleys, if not the natural beauty of the world, which, if you consider well, you enjoy through the sense of sight alone? And if the poet wishes in such a case to call himself a painter too, why did you not take such sites as described by the poet, and stay at home without feeling the excessive heat of the sun? Was this not more useful to you and less toil, since it is done in the cool and without motion and danger of illness? But the soul could not enjoy the benefit of the eyes, the windows of its dwelling, and could not receive the images of the cheerful places; it could not see the shady valleys watered by the play of the winding rivers, could not see the varied flowers that with their colours make harmony to the eye, and likewise all the other things that can be presented to that eye. But if the painter, in the cold and rigid times of winter, sets before you the same painted landscapes, or others in which you have received your pleasures beside some spring, you may see yourself again, a lover with your beloved, in the flowering meadows, under the sweet shade of the verdant...