Thy tones are silver melted into sound,
And as I dream
I see no walls around,
But seem to hear
A gondolier
Sing sweetly down some slow Venetian stream.
Italian skies — that I have never seen —
I see above.
( Ah, play again, my queen;
Thy fingers white
Fly swift and light
And weave for me the golden mesh of love. )
Oh, thou dusk sorceress of the dusky eyes
And soft dark hair,
‘ T is thou that mak'st my skies
So swift to change
To far and strange:
But far and strange, thou still dost make them fair.
Now thou dost sing, and I am lost in thee
As one who drowns
In floods of melody.
Still in thy art
Give me this part,
Till perfect love, the love of loving crowns.