I leave behind me the elm-shadowed square 
And carven portals of the silent street, 
And wander on with listless, vagrant feet 
Through seaward-leading alleys, till the air 
Smells of the sea, and straightway then the care 
Slips from my heart, and life once more is sweet. 
At the lane's ending lie the white-winged fleet. 
O restless Fancy, whither wouldst thou fare? 
Here are brave pinions that shall take thee far -- 
Gaunt hulks of Norway; ships of red Ceylon; 
Slim-masted lovers of the blue Azores! 
'Tis but an instant hence to Zanzibar, 
Or to the regions of the Midnight Sun; 
Ionian isles are thine, and all the fairy shores!