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XXVII. THE WAVE-TOSSED VESSEL
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XXVII.
THE WAVE-TOSSED VESSEL

Sweet art thou, lady, rising from the deep
Like Venus,—white star of the open sea,
Heart of the spaces where the blue waves leap
And toss tumultuous heads ecstatically:
Rising as if from some enchanted sleep
Like a pure sudden daybreak, love, on me,
With hair in those sea-breezes floating free
And eyes through which the sea-birds' glances peep.
“Harbour of refuge” am I? O fair ship,
Fair woman-vessel with love-moulded lip,
Lo! through the ocean ploughing thy pure way,
Thy black hair pearly with the reckless spray,
Sweet with the breezes, splendid from the sea,
As to thine harbour hurriest thou to me?