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[174]

Morning in Venice.

Mrs. Jane Newell Moore.
The Adriatic's chilly breath has ceased
The dawn's resistless coming to delay,
And turns, in honor of the conquering day,
To golden clouds of incense in the east.
But still about the City of the Sea
Clings, like a maiden's veil, a tender mist;
She looks again the radiant bride he kissed
In her first flush of youthful majesty.
The rosy marble of her palace seems
A western sunrise, and the sun's own glow
In the warm colors of the sails below,
While high upon her soaring tower gleams
The shining angel which her saint has given
To lead his city's thoughts from earth to heaven. [175] [176]

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