And yet I never shall feel quite at home:

 I love to roam.

 Day after day I loiter and explore

 From door to door;

 So many treasures lure

 The curious mind. What histories obscure

 They must immure!

 I hardly know which room I care for best;

 This fronting west,

 With the strange hills in view,

 Where the great sun goes,—where I may go too,

 When my lease is through,—

 Or this one for the morning and the east,

 Where a man may feast

 His eyes on looming sails,

 And be the first to catch their foreign hails

 Or spy their bales.

2

 Then the pale summer twilights towards the pole!

 It thrills my soul

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