To them that in this castle dwell, the sea
Is as the desert was to us at Fez.
Al. Custom will dull the sense of any pleasure.
But set them down at Fez, would they not pine?
There’s life in the air. ’Twixt yon blue roomy dome
And watery pavement the young winds charge forth
Stored with refreshment: now we taste the springs
Man’s spirit should drink, the very mountain torrent
Of heaven, that were content to slake our throats’
Immortal thirst at stagnant pools. What, Zapel,