Their ices, and their Austrian band
And dark-eyed girls.
Di. The whole great square they fill,
From the red flaunting streamers on the staffs,
And that barbaric portal of St. Mark’s,
To where, unnoticed, at the darker end,
I sit upon my step—one great gay crowd.
The Campanile to the silent stars
Goes up, above—its apex lost in air—
While these do what?