In a Bye-Canal

A swoon of noon, a trance of tide,
The hushed siesta brooding wide
    Like calms far off Peru;
No floating wayfarer in sight,
Dumb noon, and haunted like the night
    When Jael the wiled one slew.

A languid impulse from the oar
Plied by my indolent gondolier
Tinkles against a palace hoar,
    And, hark, response I hear! 
A lattice clicks; and lo, I see 
Between the slats, mute summoning me, 
What loveliest eyes of scintillation, 
What basilisk glance of conjuration!

    Fronted I have, part taken the span
Of portents in nature and peril in man. 
I have swum—I have been 
’Twixt the whale’s black flukes and the white shark’s fin;
The enemy’s desert have wandered in,
And there have turned, have turned and scanned,
Following me how noiselessly,
Envy and Slander, lepers hand in hand.
All this.  But at the latticed eye—
“Hey!  Gondolier, you sleep, my man;
Wake up!”  And, shooting by, we ran;
The while I mused, This, surely now,
Confutes the Naturalists, allow!
Sirens, true sirens verily be,
Sirens, waylayers in the sea.

Well, wooed by these same deadly misses,
    Is it shame to run?
No! flee them did divine Ulysses,
    Brave, wise, and Venus’ son.