  The evening sails come home With twilight in their wings. The harbour-light across the gloam Springs; The wind sings. The waves begin to tell The sea's night-sorrow o'er, Weaving within their ancient spell More Than earth's lore. The rising moon wafts strange Low lures across the tide, On which my dim thoughts seem to range, Stride Upon stride, They seem at last to blend With waves that from the Eternal Will Wend, Without end. |
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