The day will fade in my crown
The gold become heavy on my brow
The edges of my coat flow over the marble steps.
How the sea moans in the evening's sad splendour.
Night daughter come quietly
Sit at my feet on the white marble,
The wind will lift your hair
And your hair is black.
See, the waters have risen -
Sit quiet
Until I say, 'Rise. Sing.'
Venice 1910