At once, that very night; I could not wait
The tardy morning—'twas a year away.
I only gave the gondolier his name,
And said, "You know him?" "Yes."
"Then row me quick to where he is."
He bowed and on he went,
And as we swept along, I leaned me out
And dragged my burning fingers in the wave,
My hurried heart forecasting to itself our meeting,
What he'd say and think,