  Across the gaping bay, To dance like bubbles in the wake Of westward flying day. So quick they rise, so swift they flow, So bright their topsails gleam, They seem to come, and come and go Like joy-thoughts in a dream. Wind happy ships, in constant flight Across the sloping main, That thro' the dark and thro' the light Sail on and on again. A port ye have, I know not where— 'Tis far beyond my world— But pray some day may find you there |
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