Distill patina of the ages from your horses,
The amber tears that the ghetto and casinos cry,
And trace the inkstains of your canal courses.
The feet of beggars and the dukes in motion,
The steps from churches to the water worn,
Your songs and echoes carry dust to ocean,
And all of us who bear your candle mourn.
The rolling rumbling rhythm of your bells,
The sketches of the sun and shadows,
Transform the streets into the alphabet of spells,
La Serenissima - our mother and our gallows.