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A SUNSET FANTASY
Our ship shall be of sandal built,
Like ships in old-world tales,
Carven with cunning art, and gilt,
And winged with scented sails
Of silver silk, whereon the red
Great gladioli burn,
A rainbow-flag at her masthead,
A rose-flag at her stern;
And, perching on the point above
Wherefrom the pennon blows,
The figure of a flying dove,
And in her beak a rose.
And from the fading land the breeze
Shall bring us, blowing low,
Old odours and old memories,
And airs of long ago —
A melody that has no words
Of mortal speech a part,
Yet touching all the deepest chords
That tremble in the heart:
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