Читать книгу Nirvana Days - Rice Cale Young - Страница 10

My gondola is a black sea-swan,

And glides beneath the moon.

Dark palaces beside me pass,

Like visions in a beryl-glass

Of what shall never be, alas,

Or what has been too soon.

Like what shall never be, but in

The breathing of a swoon.

My gondola is a black sea-swan,

And makes her mystic way

From door to phantom water-door,

While carven balconies hang o'er

And casements framed for love say more

Than love can ever say.

Say more than any voice but voice

Of silent magic may.

My gondola is a black sea-swan —

Rialto lies behind.

And by me the Salute swings,

A loveliness that must take wings

And vanish, as imaginings

Within an Afrit's mind;

As vague and vast imaginings

That can no substance find.

My gondola is a black sea-swan:

San Marco and the shaft

Of the slim Campanile steal

Into my trance and leave a seal

Upon my senses, like the feel

Of long enchantment quaffed:

Of long enchantments such as songs

Of sage Al Raschid waft.

My gondola is a black sea-swan

And gains to the lagoon,

Where samphire and sea-lavender

Around me float or softly stir,

While far-off Venice still lifts her

Fair witchery to the moon

And all that wonder e'er gave birth

Seems out of beauty hewn.