The ceaseless rain is falling fast,
       &nbsp And yonder gilded vane,
Immovable for three days past,
       &nbsp Points to the misty main,

It drives me in upon myself
       &nbsp And to the fireside gleams,
To pleasant books that crowd my shelf,
       &nbsp And still more pleasant dreams,

I read whatever bards have sung
       &nbsp Of lands beyond the sea,
And the bright days when I was young
       &nbsp Come thronging back to me.

In fancy I can hear again
       &nbsp The Alpine torrent's roar,
The mule-bells on the hills of Spain,
       &nbsp The sea at Elsinore.

I see the convent's gleaming wall
       &nbsp Rise from its groves of pine,
And towers of old cathedrals tall,
       &nbsp And castles by the Rhine.

I journey on by park and spire,
       &nbsp Beneath centennial trees,
Through fields with poppies all on fire,
       &nbsp And gleams of distant seas.
I fear no more the dust and heat,
       &nbsp No more I feel fatigue,
While journeying with another's feet
       &nbsp O'er many a lengthening league.

Let others traverse sea and land,
       &nbsp And toil through various climes,
I turn the world round with my hand
       &nbsp Reading these poets' rhymes.

From them I learn whatever lies
       &nbsp Beneath each changing zone,
And see, when looking with their eyes,
       &nbsp Better than with mine own.