A Dead Calm and Mist
The slow heave of the sleeping sea
With pulse-like motion swells and falls,
And drowsily a stray gull calls
The very wail of melancholy;
All day the moveless mist has slept
On the same bosom east winds swept:
No breath of change in the grey mist,
Save just a dream of amethyst.
With pulse-like motion swells and falls,
And drowsily a stray gull calls
The very wail of melancholy;
All day the moveless mist has slept
On the same bosom east winds swept:
No breath of change in the grey mist,
Save just a dream of amethyst.
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