Classic and Contemporary Poetry
VENICE, by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH Poet's Biography First Line: While the skies of this northern november Last Line: By all the chill blasts of november! Subject(s): Beauty; Venice, Italy; Vision | ||||||||
WHILE the skies of this northern November Scowl down with a darkening menace, I wonder if you still remember That marvellous summer in Venice. When the mornings by clouds unencumbered Smiled on in unchanging persistence On the broad bright laguna that slumbered Afar in the magical distance. And the mirror of waters reflected The sails in their gay plumage grouping Like tropical birds that erected Their wings, or sat drowsily drooping. How by moonlight our gondola gliding Through gleams and through shadows of wonder, With its sharp flashing beak flew dividing The waves slipping silently under. Then almost too full seemed the chalice Of new brimming life and of beauty, As we floated by Riva and palace, Dogana and stately Salute -- Through deep-mouthed canals overshaded By balconies gray, quaint and olden, Where ruins of centuries faded Stood stripped of their azure and golden. Do you call back the days when before us The masters of art shone revealing Their marvels of color -- and o'er us Glowed grand on the rich massy ceiling In the halls of the doges, where trembled The state in its turbulent fever, And purple-robed senates assembled In days that are shadows forever? You remember the yellow light tipping The domes when the sunset was dying; The crowds on the quays, and the shipping; The pennons and flags that were flying; -- Saint Mark's with its mellow-toned glory, The splendor and gloom of its riches; The columns Byzantine and hoary; The arches, the gold-crusted niches; And the days when the sunshine invited The painters abroad, until mooring Their bark in the shadow, delighted They wrought at their labors alluring; The pictures receding in stretches Of amber and opal around us -- The joy of our mornings of sketches -- The spell of achievement that bound us? Ah, never I busy my brushes With scenes of that radiant weather, But through me the memory rushes When we were in Venice together. Fair Venice, the pearl-shell of cities! Though poor the oblations we bring her -- The pictures, the songs and the ditties -- Ah, still we must paint her and sing her! A vision of beauty long vanished, A dream that is joy to remember, A solace that cannot be banished By all the chill blasts of November! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MERCY SEAT by NORMAN DUBIE TOO BRIGHT TO SEE by LINDA GREGG NORMAL LIGHT by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER LANDSCAPES (FOR CLEMENT R. WOOD) by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE VISION TEST by MONA VAN DUYN FREED FROM ANOTHER CONTEXT by ELEANOR WILNER CORRESPONDENCES; HEXAMETERS AND PENTAMETERS by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH |
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