With a Sirocco, for example, blowing,
When even the sea looks dim with all its spray,
And sulkily the river's ripple's flowing,
And the sky shows that very ancient gray,
The sober, sad antithesis to glowing,—
'T is pleasant, if then anything is pleasant,
To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant.
XXIX.
We left our heroes and our heroines
In that fair clime which don't depend on climate,