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THE wind stept lightly down
From his chariot in the sea;
On his face was never a frown
As he kist her tenderly
Who was dreaming her soul for ever away
For one gone seawards at break of day.
The waves ran merrily o'er,
In a dazzling laughter of foam,
The yellow paths o' the shore,
When a little boat came home.
One sang with glee as she waited there,
And a blithe wind-welcome stirr'd her hair.
The poet lookt and saw
Thro' the blind storm-whirl, far out,
The rock, like a monster's paw,
Splashing the seas about -
With never a thought of the dreamless dead
Under the sea-weed canopied.
And he said, "O terrible seas
That bellow and beat the land,
Be ye at strife or at peace,
O seas, ye are in His hand."
The spray-song and wind-song rang thro' his ears,
Not the hollow moan of a woman's tears!
F.
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