A smile in his gray mustachio lurks
Whenever he thinks of the King of Spain,
And the listed[36] tulips look like Turks,
And the silent gardener as he works
Is changed to the Dean of Jaen[37].
The windmills on the outermost
Verge of the landscape in the haze,
To him are towers on the Spanish coast,
With whiskered sentinels at their post,
Though this is the river Maese.