They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse Tower on the Rhine.
Some day you may go to Bingen and see for yourself the famous Rat Tower, standing straight and slender and graceful on its little green island. You will hear the winds and the waves as they seem to whisper — whisper — these stories to each other.
When the great sun sets behind the mountains, the Rhine sometimes turns red as blood. Then a strange warm glow, like fire, falls across the lonely Rat Tower. This fierce, red glare, the peasants say, is sent as a warning against cruelty to God's poor and hungry children.
Slowly it dies away. Over the crumbling walls of the castle glide long gray shadows. Upward they creep — higher — higher — higher. They reach the dark tower. Through door and windows, through chink and crevice and keyhole they steal.
