Your soul is a landscape highly prized
Bewitched by music and by masquerade
Where lute-players and dancers go disguised
Sad beneath their fantastical parade.
All tell, while singing in a minor key
Of all-conquering love, and life’s serene delight
A happiness they seem not to believe
As their song mingles softly with the moonlight,
With the calm moonlight, so lovely and so sad,
That sets the birds to dreaming in the trees
And the jets of water to their sobbing rapture,
The jets of water in their marble bays.