Sunset and Venice

This perfect evening slowly falls Without a stain, without a cloud; The sun has set—and all the bells Of Venice in the skies are loud,

Clashing and chiming far and near ‘Ave Maria,’ while the moon, Large-globed and red, climbs through the mist To loiter o’er the dark lagoon.

And now the loud o’ermastering sound Ceases, and silence, like a tide, Flows o’er the shores of sea and sky, And the gray earth is sanctified.

Beneath me the long gardens lie; Cool alleys trellised with the vine; And on the rustling mulberry-trees Shadows the solitary pine.

Stone-black, it spreads against the fire That westward reddens and above Pales into gold and rose and pearl, And then to azure, warm as love.

How sweet the air, how calm the eve! How still the light, how still the pine! But O the more I know their rest, The more I feel it is not mine.

Great Nature loves our joy and calm; But to our restless scorn and grief, Wild weariness of love, she gives No tenderness, and no relief.

Unkind, alas, she is to me! What has her heart to do with strife? ‘Seek peace,’ she says, ‘my law of peace.’— I cannot, let me live my life.