Sang in my half-crazed ears, or seemed to sing,
The fragment and the cadence of a song.
“Ah, death, the end of grief, what do I care?”
Then I stood up among my tiring-maids,
And saw myself in the long Venice glass
A vision of pale splendor, as I moved
To take my station on the balcony,
In the mid place, the very front of all,
Set like a bride in festival array,
Among the laughing, chattering, peering throng,