They looked at me as I went by down the
long, long road, alone and exposed and out of the world.
I remember nobody came at the border village to examine my pack, I
passed through unchallenged. All was quiet and lifeless and hopeless,
with big stretches of heavy land.
Till sunset came, very red and purple, and suddenly, from the heavy
spacious open land I dropped sharply into the Rhine valley again,
suddenly, as if into another glamorous world.
There was the river rushing along between its high, mysterious, romantic
banks, which were high as hills, and covered with vine. And there was
the village of tall, quaint houses flickering its lights on to the
deep-flowing river, and quite silent, save for the rushing of water.
There was a fine covered bridge, very dark. I went to the middle and
looked through the opening at the dark water below, at the facade of
square lights, the tall village-front towering remote and silent above
the river. The hill rose on either side the flood; down here was a
small, forgotten, wonderful world that belonged to the date of isolated
village communities and wandering minstrels.
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