SERENATA MAGICA ( Venetian ) My gondola is a black sea-swan, And glides beneath the moon. Dark palaces beside me pass, Like visions in a beryl-glass Of what shall never be, alas, Or what has been too soon. Like what shall never be, but in The breathing of a swoon. My gondola is a black sea-swan, And makes her mystic way From door to phantom water-door, While carven balconies hang o'er And casements framed for love say more Than love can ever say. Say more than any voice but voice Of silent magic may. My gondola is a black sea-swan-- Rialto lies behind. And by me the Salute swings, A loveliness that must take wings And vanish, as imaginings Within an Afrit's mind; As vague and vast imaginings That can no substance find. My gondola is a black sea-swan: San Marco and the shaft Of the slim Campanile steal Into my trance and leave a seal Upon my senses, like the feel Of long enchantment quaffed: Of long enchantments such as songs Of sage Al Raschid waft. My gondola is a black sea-swan And gains to the lagoon, Where samphire and sea-lavender Around me float or softly stir, While far-off Venice still lifts her Fair witchery to the moon And all that wonder e'er gave birth Seems out of beauty hewn.