A VENETIAN PALACE

By Frank Oliver Call

In quivering translucent light,

Her head resting upon the blue pillow of the sky,

Her feet upon the floor of the smoke-blue water,

Sleeps Beauty,

Turned to stone by a miracle of art.

And though she never stirs,

But slumbers on in a worn and faded robe

Rose-colored and bordered with old lace of ivory white,

We come from far-off cities,

And we turn to her our hungry eyes,

Even away from sunlit sky and sea.