Guadalupe

No matter how you love me
You cannot keep me home.
Along the airy lane of bells
Beyond the peacock dome,

I know the way to travel,
And I shall go at will—
Where the stone sails await the wind
Upon the holy hill.

The mariners who made them,
They have been long away:
But when a wind from Heaven blows,
They will come back some day;

And I shall hear them singing
And watch the stone sails fill,
Till the white city like a ship
Moves out across the hill.
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