FROM Florence and from Venice,
Like silver swans at noon,
That silken dim winds menace—
Each barque a drownÈd moon,
I’ll bring you freights of amber,
PerfumÈd like the rose,
To build your sleeping chamber,
And song-birds for your close;
Faint stars to go a-singing,
Like fluttering nightingales
From golden cages winging,
When, Love, your tir’d wing fails.
And as we come a-rowing,
Great rainbows rise and swing
Like haughty peacocks bowing
In the gardens of the King.