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Updated: July 15, 2025
The afternoon was lovely; the slant beams of the setting sun came back from gilded windows, and the houses and chimney-tops of the little town were in a glow; but she saw nothing bright anywhere; in all the glory of the setting sun the little town looked strange and miserable. There was no sign of her having been expected; nobody was waiting to meet her. What was to be done next?
Now seas and earth were in confusion lost A world of waters, and without a coast. One climbs a cliff; one in his boat is borne, And ploughs above where late he sowed his corn. Others o'er chimney-tops and turrets row, And drop their anchors on the meads below; Or, downward driven, they bruise the tender vine, Or, tossed aloft, are hurled against a pine.
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