Behind us lay the quintessential staves,
Palladio’s great churches — all pediment and thrust;
And lacquered gondolas, of course, jostled by waves
Which licked the Piazzetta at the slightest gust.
In front, the blushing Palazzo, the to and fro’
Of throngs: the over-excited Japanese, the French,
The obvious, obese Americans, the whole sorry show
Of tourism. We did not see. On our stone bench
We contemplated the gentlemanly bell-tower, my head
Now resting at your bosom, now in your lap.
We did not care what the world said,
Whether our marginal presence spoilt its snap.
Fearing neither obloquy nor stricture
We knew we made a perfect and proper picture.
Palladio’s great churches — all pediment and thrust;
And lacquered gondolas, of course, jostled by waves
Which licked the Piazzetta at the slightest gust.
In front, the blushing Palazzo, the to and fro’
Of throngs: the over-excited Japanese, the French,
The obvious, obese Americans, the whole sorry show
Of tourism. We did not see. On our stone bench
We contemplated the gentlemanly bell-tower, my head
Now resting at your bosom, now in your lap.
We did not care what the world said,
Whether our marginal presence spoilt its snap.
Fearing neither obloquy nor stricture
We knew we made a perfect and proper picture.
(1992)
