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Travels by the Fireside

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<h3>TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE</h3> <div class="stanza"> The ceaseless rain is falling fast, And yonder gilded vane, Immovable for three days past, Points to the misty main. </div> <div class="stanza"> It drives me in upon myself And to the fireside gleams, To pleasant books that crowd my shelf, And still more pleasant dreams. </div> <div class="stanza"> I read whatever bards have sung Of lands beyond the sea, And the bright days when I was young Come thronging back to me. </div> <div class="stanza"> In fancy I can hear again The Alpine torrent's roar, The mule-bells on the hills of Spain, The sea at Elsinore. </div> <div class="stanza"> I see the convent's gleaming wall Rise from its groves of pine, And towers of old cathedrals tall, And castles by the Rhine. </div> <div class="stanza"> I journey on by park and spire, Beneath centennial trees, Through fields with poppies all on fire, And gleams of distant seas. </div> <div class="stanza"> I fear no more the dust and heat, No more I fear fatigue, While journeying with another's feet O'er many a lengthening league. </div> <div class="stanza"> Let others traverse sea and land, And toil through various climes, I turn the world round with my hand Reading these poets' rhymes. </div> <div class="stanza"> From them I learn whatever lies Beneath each changing zone, And see, when looking with their eyes, Better than with mine own. </div> H. W. Longfellow. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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