Buildings grew up to ground you.
First huts on stakes, near boats -
Then palaces, churches, everything proud,
To show off the state that floats.
Men and metal tried to sound you,
Amidst gold’s shimmer and lagoon mist.
But you brought the noise to them,
So the world feared St Mark’s wrist.
Monarch and pope wished to hound you.
Partly for your soul, mostly for your lands.
Despite all your markets, thought was free -
You rode all anger, trusting in salty hands.
Pride came to abound in you,
As houses sank behind the paint.
Pageants joined gambling on the water,
While the drumbeat of trade grew faint.
Then came one to astound you.
Rip up the rotten materials, fallen minds,
And take half the world with him:
Those who cheer as the Republic unwinds.
Now many eyes grow round you,
So weary of sight and of sea.
The tide is now against the city;
A final veil for its finery.
