  The cloudy peril of the seas, The menace of mid-winter days, May break the scented boughs of ease And lock the lips of praise, But every sea its harbour knows, And every winter wakes to spring, And every broken song the rose Shall yet resing. But comfortable love once spent May not re-shape its broken trust, Or find anew the old content, Dishonoured in the dust; No port awaits those tattered sails, No sun rides high above that gloom, Unchronicled those half-told tales Shall time entomb. |
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