Then passing on,

More masks always replacing them.

Masks with tricorns and rapiers sticking out behind

Pursuing masks with plumes and high heels,

The sunlight shining under their insteps.

One,

One, two,

One, two, three,

There is a thronging of shadows on the hot wall,

Filigreed at the top with moving leaves.

Yellow sunlight and black shadows,

Yellow and black,

Gorgeous -- barbaric.

Two masks stand together,

And the shadow of a leaf falls through them,

Marking the wall where they are not.

From hat-tip to shoulder-tip,

From elbow to sword-hilt,

The leaf falls.

The shadows mingle,

Blur together,

Slide along the wall and disappear.

Gold of mosaics and candles,

And night blackness lurking in the ceiling beams.

Saint Marks glitters with flames and reflections.

A cloak brushes aside,

And the yellow of satin

Licks out over the coloured inlays of the pavement.

Under the gold crucifixes

There is a meeting of hands

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