Chapter XVI: A Portrait by Veneziano

Strange dancing-girl with curls of golden wire, With strait white veil, and sinister jewel strung Upon your brows, your sombre eyes desire Some secret thing. Garlanded leaves are young Around your head, and, in your beauty's hours, Venice yet loved that joy's enthusiast Be frail, fantastic as gilt iris-flowers. O startling reveller from out the Past, Long, long ago through lanes of chrysophrase The Dark Eros compelled his exquisite Evil apostle. This painter made your praise, A piece of art, a curious delight. But your ghost wanders. Yesterday your sweet Accusing eyes challenged me in the street.