(After passing Sirmione, April 1887.) br br Sirmio, thou dearest dear of strands br That Neptune strokes in lake and sea, br With what high joy from stranger lands br Doth thy old friend set foot on thee! br Yea, barely seems it true to me br That no Bithynia holds me now, br But calmly and assuringly br Around me stretchest homely Thou.