The Sea-Queen wears her saddest dress;
And my soul all insensibly
Catches her mood of mournfulness.
Fairer she seemed when April light
And fragrance played around her throne.
Or when through all some languid night
Large yellow worlds above her shone.
Forsaken, now, her briny streets;
No red-booked strangers pass and pry;
No crowded gondola one meets