A Dreamer’s Venice
This is Venice, this the centre of a people’s power and pride ;1
Dead, you call it ? Shall we enter—see, the door is open wide—2
Make our bow to dead San Marco ? Dead, if all the saints
have died !3
have died !3
You, sir, with your northern vision and your friendly-foreign air,4
Talk of death with strange precision. Death is foul, but life is fair ;5
Here is life ; no land is fairer ; there’s the truth, deny who dare.6
Here is life, the high immortal knowledge of a love which brings—7
Through this stately graven portal, borne on yonder angels’ wings,—8
Hope to men who take the burden, bear the cross of earthly things.9
Good, you think your kind of thriving argues other folks’ decay !10
What’s your progress but depriving life of sweetness, anyway ?11
You with your machines and madness, dust and discord, fret and
fray.12
fray.12
Here, if labour lags a little, here, if tires the spirit soon,13
Time is short as glass is brittle—we enjoy life’s afternoon !14
Quickly fall the evening shadows, night sinks down on the lagoon.15
They who gave us of their glory gave us all the world beside,16
You, who come to read our story, gaze upon our strength, our pride,17
Make your bows to great San Marco, ask his pardon since you lied !18
Rough, perhaps, my speech, but burning with the zeal of faithful
will,19
will,19
Make it yours, and so returning keep it yours for good or ill.20
Venice is as great as ever, all her fires are blazing still.21
So, your hand, sir, men and nations are but accidents of birth.22
What if those your desolations wide you spread and far your dearth ?23
Venice rests the great protectress of the beauties of the earth.24