To A Lady Playing The Harp

Thy tones are silver melted into sound,
    And as I dream
  I see no walls around,
    But seem to hear
    A gondolier
  Sing sweetly down some slow Venetian stream.

  Italian skies--that I have never seen--
    I see above.
  (Ah, play again, my queen;
    Thy fingers white
    Fly swift and light
  And weave for me the golden mesh of love.)

  Oh, thou dusk sorceress of the dusky eyes
    And soft dark hair,
  'T is thou that mak'st my skies
    So swift to change
    To far and strange:
  But far and strange, thou still dost make them fair.

  Now thou dost sing, and I am lost in thee
    As one who drowns
  In floods of melody.
    Still in thy art
    Give me this part,
  Till perfect love, the love of loving crowns.