My gondolier lazily makes his way,
     Threading along, humming a song,
And glorious tints of a dying day
     Fill me with rapture, while earth, sky and sea,
     In their aureole robes, are a mystery.
     Hidden from none, priceless, but free.

The swish of the oar through 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 tonight.

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