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51

XLV. THE SEA-PALACE

In the fair days of youth I did behold
One standing on the sea-shore, and her face
Smote me with sudden rapture. Then that place
O'er which the sea-wind travelled gaunt and cold
Became as a sweet palace wrought of gold
And chiselled into cunning lines of grace;
And in its heart a fountain I could trace,
And many a pillar of no mortal mould.
And still, when I am wandering by the sea
The wild winds beckon with a sudden tune,
Bringing that palace back again to me,
And the early crescent of love's rising moon:
“Surely,” I whisper, “I shall meet her soon,
And pass those palace-gates triumphantly.”