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;