THE DOVES OF VENICE.
I stood in the quiet piazza,
Where come rude noises never;
But the feet of children, the wings of doves,
Are sounding on forever.
And the cooing of their soft voices,
And the touch of the rippling sea,
And the ringing clock of the armèd knight,
Came through the noon to me.
While their necks with rainbow gleaming,
'Neath the dark old arches shone,
And the campanile's shadow long,
Moved o'er the pavement stone.
And from every "coigne of vantage,"
Where lay some hidden nest,
They fluttered, peeped, and glistened forth,
Sacred, serene, at rest.
I thought of thy saint, O Venice!
Who said in his tenderness,
"I love thy birds, my Father dear,
Our lives they cheer and bless!
"For love is not for men only;
To the tiniest little things
Give room to nestle in our hearts;
Give freedom to all wings!"
And the lovely, still piazza,
Seemed with his presence blest,
And I, and the children, and the doves,
Partakers of his rest.
Laura Winthrop Johnson.