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THE ABSENT MARINER

Sailor of the hoary deep,
Thou art rolled from tide to tide.
I can watch the waves and weep:
Thou canst roam the ocean wide.
I tremble at the rising gale,
Yet in the calm I chide thy sail:
For not one ship on all the main
Can bring my true-love home again.
Over realms of restless foam,
Boundless breadths of heaving sea,
Rock, O wind, my rover home,
Zephyr, blow his sails to me.
Waft him on thy tender wing,
Like the long-delaying spring:
Till, safe in port, with anchor cast,
He folds me in his arms at last.
Month on month, he sailed away,
A speck upon the ocean line,
Melting in the rainy gray,
Cloud-like on the utmost brine.

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Autumn passed in discontent,
Winter came and winter went.
Day by day, I ponder dumb,
Spring is here—Ah! will he come?