Shine through their veil diaphanous, floats down
From the wide portal; and the ivory prow
Of the soft-cushion’d gondola (as she
Steps lightly from the marble to her place)
Dips, rises, dips again; and through the blue
Swift glides into the sunset.
Oh, the glow
Of that rich sunset dims whate’er I see
In this my own dear valley! O’er the hills—
Those craggy Euganean hills, whose peaks