A VENEZIA.
GLIDES a boat o'er silvered waters,
Through a path of pale moonbeams,
Past gondolas nestling closely,
To the city built of dreams.
Through a path of pale moonbeams,
Past gondolas nestling closely,
To the city built of dreams.
Ah! proud ruler of the ocean,
Queen of seas thou art no more,
But the memories left behind thee
Are as potent as of yore.
Queen of seas thou art no more,
But the memories left behind thee
Are as potent as of yore.
City of a hundred bridges,
What may phantoms pale behold,
Flitting through some dim palazzo,
Living o'er the days of old!
What may phantoms pale behold,
Flitting through some dim palazzo,
Living o'er the days of old!
Centuries have passed on centuries,
All once gold hath turned to rust,
Men and women great and honored
Have returned now dust to dust.
All once gold hath turned to rust,
Men and women great and honored
Have returned now dust to dust.
Blessed be grand old San Marco,
Rearing still aloft its dome;
Still the bells of the campanile
Call the weary laborer home!
Rearing still aloft its dome;
Still the bells of the campanile
Call the weary laborer home!
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