"Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie.
No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently— ·     ·     ·     ·     ·     ·     ·      Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathéd friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine. ·     ·     ·     ·     ·     ·     ·      No swellings tell that winds may be Upon some far-off happier sea— No heavings hint that winds have been On seas less hideously serene."