The Doves of Venice

As the Transatlantic tourists Have been rowed on the Lagoon, They have mourned its ancient glories, They have watched the Germans spoon. As they ’ve sailed these famous highways, As they ’ve floated on these tides, The arts that most impressed them Were the artless German brides. As they ’ve listened to the music Of the poor Italian bands, Heard the same old tunes repeated, Seen the Germans holding hands,— They have wondered why all Venice, From San Marco to Lagoon, Is now illumined only By a German honeymoon; Why the steeds on the Duomo Have not laughed horse-laughs, and shied At the too transparent fondness Of the modern German bride! Why the very stones of Venice, Which the great John Ruskin loves, Are nothing but a roosting-place For German turtle-doves!