To the world-wanderer Samarkand is near,
The broad Pacific but a narrow strait.
To him old China at the Asian gate
A neighbor is, an elder brother dear.
Toward savage coasts he dares his bark to steer,
Bidding the tempest bear him on in state.
He knocks at tombs where kings their summons wait,
And meets the gods of eld in deserts drear.
So to the traveller who has long explored
Tropics of sickness, rocky wastes of pain,
Or arctic solitudes of icy sorrow—
To him is death no foe remote, abhorred,
But a wise friend, a peacemaker who fain
Would marry loud today with shy tomorrow.