Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Travels by the Fireside

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.