JULIA MORGAN AT THE CASTLE| Lucille Lang Day Light refracts blue in the Neptune Pool. Green hills dip and roll beyond marble colonnades. Bright silk banners catch the sun from high windows in the refectory, where silver gleams on the long, polished table. Bustling servants offer wine as the master eats. Each night I walk alone on the moonlit terrace; Madonnas and empresses beam from gilded walls while guests dream in beds carved for royalty. Passing the Three Graces— Brilliance, Joy and Bloom— daughters of Zeus, embracing by the courtyard balustrade, I recall no greater pleasure than sketching a new tower while workmen strain against cement-filled buggies under shining globes of lemon, lime and tangerine. I am glad the hammering and carving will continue, my work unfinished, the flight of stars pushing ever farther into space. I am one with bees and ants creating their chambers; life is honey and drudgery. The last painting will not be placed.