The water is hushed for a voice that never calls.
My gondolier sways silently over his oar.
II
At St. Blaise, à la Zuecca! Oh, my dear,
Laugh your gentle laughter! This old land,
From Provence to Paris—never fear—
All the heart can feel will understand.
A small town, a white town,
A town for you and me—
With a Café Glacier in the square,