Venice Unvisited. I. The lovely City married to the Ocean Disturbs me with her image from afar; A troublous motion Of music drawn from other years Dulls a long vision down to tears, Made bright by distance and by height, which are The birthright of a star. II. I stand aloof like some sweet lover pining By night without the lighted room where she He loves is shining ; Who strains across a rushing wind To watch her shadow on the blind, And feel, while waiting at the trysting-tree, The face he cannot see. III. I see her now, this Chatterton of Cities! The sea crawls up to kiss her from the South, Crooning old ditties; And standing far away I trace The lie of beauty on her face, And still the slothful sin and idle drowth Seem sweet upon her mouth. IV. The seeds of Love are running wild around her, Her pride has fallen since the wealthy waves Arose and crowned her; The spirit of the Past still roams Her shrines and palaces and domes, A spectral Future broods above, and braves The glory of her graves. V. She took her dowry from immortal nations— The many winds brought wedding-gifts and loud Congratulations ; The words of peace were on her lips, Her seas were dark with coming ships, And, as she gained the bridegroom crown’d and proud, The nations cried aloud. VI. The slothful sin fell on her, and she trembled O’er her own image in the violet deep, With pride dissembled ; She left her crowded streets and towers, And deck’d her brow with idle flowers, She dreamed away her fame, where waters keep A music soft as sleep. VII. The function faded wholly with the duty, But left the everlasting bane or grace Which gave her beauty. She saw with unaffrighted heart The ships forsake her empty mart; But God had found her in her dwelling-place And cursed her with her face. VIII. But still the old immortal beauty lingers, And still she weaves the flowers of other Springs With fairy fingers; And still she holds her unreproved Communion with a time removed, Wafted from Heaven on the golden wings Of high imaginings. IX. Is it enough that she is lovely ? lying Unsinew’d till the populous sea recedes And leaves her dying? Or might she give, through pain and strife, The Beautiful a deeper life, Rising erect on sin and slothful creeds To treble it with deeds ? X. Peace to this Venice, though fulfilling never The law that made her lovely ; she must twine Such flowers for ever! Before our English woods are rolled In blowing mists of autumn gold, I trust to kneel before her still divine And unforgotten, shrine.