Gondolas silent and shadowy, wondrously slender of form—
Gliding in close-measured rhythm down where the barges lie,
Under the glimmering bridges, and near to the palace walls
That frown in a gloomy dusk, as the sea-mist gathers and falls.
Now, with a burst of voices, clang the Salute’s bells,
From yonder tower-lofts straining, heav’n high as they may go.
Again, to our fretful world, surely the Angelus tells
Patience for need and pain, and solace and calm for woe.
As I listen the peal dies out—alas, and alas! alas!
But from over the pallid sunset the heavy storm-clouds pass.