(In the Gothic room of the Minneapolis Art Institute)
When I behold these grooves, cut in the edge
Of Istrian marble by the bucket-ropes,
Thy ancient history its romance opes
From Zorzi palace garden and its hedge:
I see the dark-eyed maidens, near the ledge,
And plumed signors feeding ardent hopes
From glances darting o’er thy watery slopes:
Or hear the lovers whisper soft their pledge,
As deep and pure as was thy cooling drink,--
The fount of life, the elixir of youth,
The well-spring of Venetian art and song,
When truth was beauty and all beauty truth;--
Even now thy charms can make the weary strong,
While pausing at thy side to dream and think.