It is the movement that incites the form,
discovered as a downward rapture--yes,
it is the movement that delights the form,
sustained by its own velocity.And yet
My Lord recalls Ferrara?How walls
rise out of water yet to recede
into it, as if
Secret they are, sealed, annealed, and brainless
And solitary as Dickens said, but
They have something to say: that there is more
The writer is John Ruskin, on his wedding journey in Venice.
My dearest father, it is the year's First Day,
Yet so like the Last, in Venice, no one
Could tell this birth from the lees.