Classic Poem

Far off the City lies,—her domes of white
Touched by the rising sun. As some fair maid,
She blushes at her lover's kiss, now laid
Upon her brow. Only a poet might
Conjure such sea-throned vision of delight;
Noise and harsh clangor do not there invade
Streets that are silent as a Druid glade,—
O Rose of Dawn and Lily of the Night!

And now the evening gilds the gondolier
Where the inverted City, mirrored, floats;
And o'er the shipping slowly climbs the moon,
While masts are motionless on all the boats,—
Still as the Lombard-poplars when the air
Stirs not a ripple on the hushed Lagoon.