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VENICE
XV Century
JOHN DOS PASSOS
THE Doge goes down in state to the sea
To inspect, with beady traders' eyes,
New cargoes from Crete, Mytilene,
Cyprus and Joppa; galleys piled
With bales off which, in all the days
Of sailing, the sea-wind has not blown
The dust of Arabian caravans.
In velvet the Doge goes down to the sea,
And sniffs the dusty bales of spice;
Pepper from Cathay, nard and musk;
Strange marbles from ruined cities, packed
In unfamiliar-scented straw.
Black slaves sweat and grin in the sun,
Marmosets pull at the pompous gowns
Of burgesses. Parrots scream
And cling, swaying, to the ochre bales . . .
Dazzle of the rising dust of trade,
Smell of pitch and straining slaves . . .
And, out on the green tide, towards the sea,
Drift the rinds of orient fruits
Strange to the lips; bitter, and sweet.
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