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From an island of the sea Sounds a voice that summons me,— "Turn thy prow, sailor, come With the wind home!" Sweet o'er the rainbow foam, Sweet in the treetops, "Come, Coral, cliff, and watery sand, Sea-wave to land! "Droop not thy lids at night, Furl not thy sails from flight! . . ." Cease, cease, above the wave, Deep as the grave! O, what voice of the salt sea Calls me so insistently? Echoes, echoes, night and day,— "Come, come away!" |