How often then must Fra Angelico have knelt
in the dim light of that lower church of Assisi,
learning his lesson on his knees, as was ever his
habit. Then home again he would wend his way,
his eyes filled with visions of those beautiful
pictures, and his hand longing for the pencil and brush,
that he might add new beauty to his own work from
what he had learned.

Several years passed by, and at last the brothers
were allowed to return to their convent home of
San Dominico at Fiesole, and there they lived
peaceably for a long time. We cannot tell exactly
what pictures our painter-monk painted during
those peaceful years, but we know he must have
been looking out with wise, seeing eyes, drinking in
all the beauty that was spread around him.

At his feet lay Florence, with its towers and
palaces, the Arno running through it like a silver
thread, and beyond, the purple of the Tuscan hills.
All around on the sheltered hillside were green
vines and fruit-trees, olives and cypresses, fields
flaming in spring with scarlet anemones or golden
with great yellow tulips, and hedges of rose-bushes
covered with clusters of pink blossoms. No wonder,
then, such beauty sunk into his heart, and we see
in his pictures the pure fresh colour of the spring
flowers, with no shadow of dark or evil things.