Rose-Coloured at the Brim

Daughter of Venice, fairer than the moon! From thy dark casement leaning, half divine, And to the lutes of love that low repine Across the midnight of the hushed lagoon, Listening with languor in a dreamful swoon— On such a night as this thou didst entwine Thy lily fingers round this glass of wine,— Didst clasp thy climbing lover—none too soon! Thy lover left, but ere he left thy room From this he drank, his warm lips at the brim; Thou kissed it as he vanished in the gloom, That kiss, because of thy true love for him— Long, long ago when thou wast in thy bloom— Hath left it ever rosy round the rim!