Thy tones are silver melted into sound,
  And as I dream
I see no walls around,
  But seem to hear
  A gondolier
Sing sweetly down some slow Venetian stream.

Italian skies—that I have never seen—
  I see above.
(Ah, play again, my queen;
  Thy fingers white
  Fly swift and light
And weave for me the golden mesh of love.)

Oh, thou dusk sorceress of the dusky eyes
  And soft dark hair,
'T is thou that mak'st my skies
  So swift to change
  To far and strange:
But far and strange, thou still dost make them fair.

Now thou dost sing, and I am lost in thee
  As one who drowns
In floods of melody.
  Still in thy art
  Give me this part,
Till perfect love, the love of loving crowns.