Alle Zattere

Only to live, only to be In Venice, is enough for me. To be a beggar, and to lie At home beneath the equal sky, To feel the sun, to drink the night, Had been enough for my delight; Happy because the sun allowed The luxury of being proud Not to some only; but to all The right to lie along the wall. Here my ambition dies; I ask No more than some half-idle task, To be done idly, and to fill Some gaps of leisure when I will. I care not if the world forget That it was ever in my debt; I care not where its prizes fall; I long for nothing, having all. The sun each morning, on his way, Calls for me at the Zattere; I wake and greet him, I go out, Meet him, and follow him about; We spend the day together, he Goes to bed early; as for me, I make the moon my mistress, prove Constant to my inconstant love. For she is coy with me, will hie To my arms amorously, and fly Ere I have kissed her; ah! but she, She it is, to eternity, I adore only; and her smile Bewilders the enchanted isle To more celestial magic, glows At once the crystal and the rose. The crazy lover of the moon, I hold her, on the still lagoon, Sometimes I hold her in my arms; 'Tis her cold silver kiss that warms My blood to singing, and puts fire Into the heart of my desire. And all desire in Venice dies To such diviner lunacies. Life dreams itself: the world goes on, Oblivious, in oblivion; Life dreams itself, contents to keep Happy immortality, in sleep.