Amongst the English vales of green—
A watchful oak, so anciently
Rooted in a moveless scene.
His fluted leaning, grounded deep

In centuries of keeping face
With all his brethren trees.
But laced in fevered foliage,
They liaise of an unfamiliar place.

Shall leave from home
On a west wind, blown

Into the arms of Parisian rain.
And then atop the River Seine—
To drink in culture, soak up scents
Of croissant-soft deliverance

Before one more takes flight and gallops
Over the snowen-gleamed Swiss Alps.
Such a mystic sense unfelled
By lusciousness unparalleled.

Another onto Italian heights,...