_by Carter S. Cole._
_Illustration by Thomas Fogarty._
My gondolier lazily makes his way,
Threading along, humming a song,
While glorious tints of a dying day
Fill me with rapture; and earth, sky, and sea,
In their aureole robes, are a mystery
Hidden from none, priceless, but free!
The swish of the oar in the dark, quiet stream,
Rhythmical, clear, soothing to hear,
Scatters the mist as a little moonbeam
Kisses the lips that are mine by right,
And caresses the form with its mellow light
For which I am yearning to-night.
This world is a place full of trouble and pain,
None of us know, why this is so;
In fancy, at least, when you suffer again,
Ride in my gondola, dismiss all care,
Hear the soft music that floats through the air,
At twilight, in Venice, so fair.
[Illustration:
“_My gondolier lazily makes his way,_
_Threading along, humming a song._”]