Psyche - Tapa blanda

Gigantically massive, with three hundred towers, on the summit of a rocky mountain, rose the king’s castle high into the clouds. But the summit was broad, and flat as a plateau, and the castle spread far out, for miles and miles, with ramparts and walls and pinnacles. And everywhere rose up the towers, lost in the clouds, and the castle was like a city, built upon a lofty rock of basalt. Round the castle and far away lay the valleys of the kingdom, receding into the horizon, one after the other, and ever and ever. Ever changing was the horizon: now pink, then silver; now blue, then golden; now grey, then white and misty, and gradually fading away, and never could the last be seen. ] In clear weather there loomed behind the horizon always another horizon. They circled one another endlessly, they were lost in the dissolving mists, and suddenly their silhouette became more sharply defined. Over the lofty towers stretched away at times an expanse of variegated clouds, but below rushed a torrent, which fell like a cataract into a fathomless abyss, that made one dizzy to look at. So it seemed as if the castle rose up to the highest stars and went down to the central nave of the earth.