A Venetian Palace

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.