| |
| THE CEASELESS rain is falling fast, | |
| And yonder gilded vane, | |
| Immovable for three days past, | |
| Points to the misty main. | |
| |
| It drives me in upon myself, | 5 |
| And to the fireside gleams, | |
| To pleasant books that crowd my shelf, | |
| And still more pleasant dreams. | |
| |
| I read whatever bards have sung | |
| Of lands beyond the sea, | 10 |
| And the bright days when I was young | |
| Come thronging back to me. | |
| |
| In fancy I can hear again | |
| The Alpine torrent’s roar, | |
| The mule-bells on the hills of Spain, | 15 |
| The sea at Elsinore. | |
| |
| I see the convent’s gleaming wall | |
| Rise from its groves of pine, | |
| And towers of old cathedrals tall, | |
| And castles by the Rhine. | 20 |
| |
| I journey on by park and spire, | |
| Beneath centennial trees, | |
| Through fields with poppies all on fire, | |
| And gleams of distant seas. | |
| |
| I fear no more the dust and heat, | 25 |
| No more I feel fatigue, | |
| While journeying with another’s feet | |
| O’er many a lengthening league. | |
| |
| Let others traverse sea and land, | |
| And toil through various climes, | 30 |
| I turn the world round with my hand | |
| Reading these poets’ rhymes. | |
| |
| From them I learn whatever lies | |
| Beneath each changing zone, | |
| And see, when looking with their eyes, | 35 |
| Better than with mine own. | |
| |
