ALAN SULLIVAN
IF you would see Venice as she is,Wander by night in silence and aloneAmong her towers and sculptured palaces,And read the story she has writ in stone;Then, as you read, she will upon you castThe fascination of her wondrous past.Muse on, and let the silent gondolierWind at his will 'mid tortuous, twisting waysAnd broad lagoons, with waters wide and clear,On whose unruffled breast the moonbeam plays;And move not, speak not, for the mysteryOf Venice is with you on the sea.Pass, if you will, beneath the five great domesOf old Saint Mark's; watch how the glittering heightSoars in quick curves; see how each sunbeam roamsAnd fills the nave with soft pure amber light;This is the heart of Venice, and the tombWhich folds her story in its sacred gloom.So leave her sunlight, enter now her cells,By frowning black-browed ports and massy bars,Where pestilence in foul dank vapor dwells,Far, far from sun and day, from moon and stars;The only sound when whispering waters glideIn on the bosom of a sluggish tide.Then turn again into her solitudes,—Things of to-day will faint and fade like smoke,—Drift through the darkened nooks where silence broods,Let memory fall upon you like a cloak:Venice will rise around you as of old,Decked out in marble, amethyst, and gold.But that was years ago; to-day the notesOf wild free song have left her silver streets;Her blazoned banner now no longer floatsIn aureate folds, no more the sunrise greets;She lives but in a past so strong and braveIt serves alike for monument and grave.
IF you would see Venice as she is,Wander by night in silence and aloneAmong her towers and sculptured palaces,And read the story she has writ in stone;Then, as you read, she will upon you castThe fascination of her wondrous past.Muse on, and let the silent gondolierWind at his will 'mid tortuous, twisting waysAnd broad lagoons, with waters wide and clear,On whose unruffled breast the moonbeam plays;And move not, speak not, for the mysteryOf Venice is with you on the sea.Pass, if you will, beneath the five great domesOf old Saint Mark's; watch how the glittering heightSoars in quick curves; see how each sunbeam roamsAnd fills the nave with soft pure amber light;This is the heart of Venice, and the tombWhich folds her story in its sacred gloom.So leave her sunlight, enter now her cells,By frowning black-browed ports and massy bars,Where pestilence in foul dank vapor dwells,Far, far from sun and day, from moon and stars;The only sound when whispering waters glideIn on the bosom of a sluggish tide.Then turn again into her solitudes,—Things of to-day will faint and fade like smoke,—Drift through the darkened nooks where silence broods,Let memory fall upon you like a cloak:Venice will rise around you as of old,Decked out in marble, amethyst, and gold.But that was years ago; to-day the notesOf wild free song have left her silver streets;Her blazoned banner now no longer floatsIn aureate folds, no more the sunrise greets;She lives but in a past so strong and braveIt serves alike for monument and grave.
IF you would see Venice as she is,Wander by night in silence and aloneAmong her towers and sculptured palaces,And read the story she has writ in stone;Then, as you read, she will upon you castThe fascination of her wondrous past.
IF you would see Venice as she is,
Wander by night in silence and alone
Among her towers and sculptured palaces,
And read the story she has writ in stone;
Then, as you read, she will upon you cast
The fascination of her wondrous past.
Muse on, and let the silent gondolierWind at his will 'mid tortuous, twisting waysAnd broad lagoons, with waters wide and clear,On whose unruffled breast the moonbeam plays;And move not, speak not, for the mysteryOf Venice is with you on the sea.
Muse on, and let the silent gondolier
Wind at his will 'mid tortuous, twisting ways
And broad lagoons, with waters wide and clear,
On whose unruffled breast the moonbeam plays;
And move not, speak not, for the mystery
Of Venice is with you on the sea.
Pass, if you will, beneath the five great domesOf old Saint Mark's; watch how the glittering heightSoars in quick curves; see how each sunbeam roamsAnd fills the nave with soft pure amber light;This is the heart of Venice, and the tombWhich folds her story in its sacred gloom.
Pass, if you will, beneath the five great domes
Of old Saint Mark's; watch how the glittering height
Soars in quick curves; see how each sunbeam roams
And fills the nave with soft pure amber light;
This is the heart of Venice, and the tomb
Which folds her story in its sacred gloom.
So leave her sunlight, enter now her cells,By frowning black-browed ports and massy bars,Where pestilence in foul dank vapor dwells,Far, far from sun and day, from moon and stars;The only sound when whispering waters glideIn on the bosom of a sluggish tide.
So leave her sunlight, enter now her cells,
By frowning black-browed ports and massy bars,
Where pestilence in foul dank vapor dwells,
Far, far from sun and day, from moon and stars;
The only sound when whispering waters glide
In on the bosom of a sluggish tide.
Then turn again into her solitudes,—Things of to-day will faint and fade like smoke,—Drift through the darkened nooks where silence broods,Let memory fall upon you like a cloak:Venice will rise around you as of old,Decked out in marble, amethyst, and gold.
Then turn again into her solitudes,—
Things of to-day will faint and fade like smoke,—
Drift through the darkened nooks where silence broods,
Let memory fall upon you like a cloak:
Venice will rise around you as of old,
Decked out in marble, amethyst, and gold.
But that was years ago; to-day the notesOf wild free song have left her silver streets;Her blazoned banner now no longer floatsIn aureate folds, no more the sunrise greets;She lives but in a past so strong and braveIt serves alike for monument and grave.
But that was years ago; to-day the notes
Of wild free song have left her silver streets;
Her blazoned banner now no longer floats
In aureate folds, no more the sunrise greets;
She lives but in a past so strong and brave
It serves alike for monument and grave.