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Some books leave us free, and some books make us free. - Emerson

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                 To Yevgeny Ivanov

The gondolas are coffins. Chilled by
The winds that blow from the lagoon,
Young, sick, beside the lion's pillar
I lie. Around me all is gloom.

The chant of iron. Booming tones.
The giants midnight striking. His
Rich, lace-like iconostasis
St Mark in moonlit waters drowns.

Past galleries in shadow buried
Salome steals - how soft her tread!..
The moonbeams fall on her: she carries
A platter with my bloody head.

Canals, men, palaces lie sleeping.
Alone the shade wings noiseless by,
And - see!- the head, as darkness deepens,
To pierce it tries with mournful eye.

1909