The Venetian Serenade Poem by Richard Monckton Milnes Houghton

When along the light ripple the far serenade
Has accosted the ear of each passionate maid,
She may open the window that looks on the stream,--
She may smile on her pillow and blend it in dream;
Half in words, half in music, it pierces the gloom,
``I am coming--Stalì--but you know not for whom!
Stalì--not for whom!''


Now the tones become clearer,--you hear more and more
How the water divided returns on the oar,--
Does the prow of the gondola strike on the stair?
Do the voices and instruments pause and prepare?
Oh! they faint on the ear as the lamp on the view,
``I am passing--Premì--but I stay not for you!
Premì--not for you!''


Then return to your couch, you who stifle a tear,
Then awake not, fair sleeper--believe he is here;
For the young and the loving no sorrow endures,
If to--day be another's, to--morrow is yours;--
May, the next time you listen, your fancy be true,
``I am coming--Sciàr--and for you and to you!
Sciàr--and to you!''