The clouds obscure the island and the church br And the cold sea is streaked with grey like mud; br Dark cypresses (but not a single birch br As in Berlin) edge the Venetian flood. br Follow the Lido with your wind-swept eye br -Long needle of the land that threads the sea - br Where white gulls in the stormy distance, fly br Past lonely gardens and the last green tree. br br You wouldn't think the citizens would dare br To venture out upon the streets below br With all this frosty dampness in the air; br But when night falls you'll see the scarlet glow br Of braziers roasting chestnuts near the Square, br And sweet potatoes in Sant'Angelo.