III.— VENICE

Out of the dark pure twilight, where the stream

Flows glimmering, streaked by many a birdlike bark

That skims the gloom whence towers and bridges gleam

Out of the dark,

Once more a face no glance might choose but mark

Shone pale and bright, with eyes whose deep slow beam

Made quick the twilight, lifeless else and stark.

The same it seemed, or mystery made it seem,

As those before beholden; but St. Mark

Ruled here the ways that showed it like a dream

Out of the dark.