Softly the gondola rocked, lights came and went;

A white glove shone as her black fan lifted and leant

Where the silk of her dress, the blue of a bittern’s wing,

Rustled against my knee, and, murmuring

The sweet slow hesitant English of a child,

Her voice was articulate laughter, her soul smiled.

Softly the gondola rocked, lights came and went;

From the sleeping houses a shadow of slumber leant

Over our heads like a wing, and the dim lagoon,

Rustling with silence, slumbered under the moon.