In Venice Now The Night Has Not Come

In Venice now night has not come Nor its refreshing breeze flown Over the waves half-darkling in the light Of the wan silent moon: half-sparkling By under-currents slow or goblins blown: The bridges and canals are mute and still. And speak not though each other front: But with the first brushes that tinct The ailing face of day with dusky rouge The first words, the first dialogues They hear between bridge and bridge Between canal and other in the fall Of the red sun towards the frail east Where its awry its glance to weep At losing its high crown momentarily: They hear they saw bridge speak to bridge, Canal to bridge, canal to canal, In those dark nights at Venice: and the sounds Of their speech secret hides and with The murmur of the waves bathing and mixing In their sweet singing beneath the silent stars Fortunate who understand: I understand not But only hear The murmur of the waves bathing and mixing In those dark nights at Venice And afar The languid strains of the strung violins.