In Venice Now The Night Has Not Come Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

In Venice now night has not come
Nor its refreshing breeze flown
Over the waves half-darkling in the light
Of the wan silent moon: half-sparkling
By under-currents slow or goblins blown:
The bridges and canals are mute and still.
And speak not though each other front:
But with the first brushes that tinct
The ailing face of day with dusky rouge
The first words, the first dialogues
They hear between bridge and bridge
Between canal and other in the fall
Of the red sun towards the frail east
Where its awry its glance to weep
At losing its high crown momentarily:
They hear they saw bridge speak to bridge,
Canal to bridge, canal to canal,
In those dark nights at Venice: and the sounds
Of their speech secret hides and with
The murmur of the waves bathing and mixing
In their sweet singing beneath the silent stars
Fortunate who understand: I understand not
But only hear
The murmur of the waves bathing and mixing
In those dark nights at Venice
And afar
The languid strains of the strung violins.