Or some gaunt castle lures me up its stair;
I see, far off, the red-tiled hamlets shine,
And catch, through slits of windows here and there,
Blue glimpses of the Rhine.
Again I pass Norwegian fjord and fjeld,
And through bleak wastes to where the sunset’s fires
Light up the white-walled Russian citadel,
The Kremlin’s domes and spires.
And now I linger in green English lanes,
By garden plots of rose and heliotrope;