Home-woe

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The wreckage of some name-forgotten barque,
         Half-buried by the dolorous shore;
         Whereto the living waters never more
         Their urgent billows pour;
But the salt spray can reach and cark --

So lies my spirit, lonely and forlorn,
         On Being's strange and perilous strand.
         And rusted sword and fleshless hand
         Point from the smothering sand;
And anchor chainless and out-worn.

But o'er what Deep, unconquered and uncharted,
         And steering by what vanished star;
         And where my dim-imagined consorts are,
         Or hidden harbour far,
From whence my sails, unblessed, departed,

Can memory, nor still intuition teach.
         And so I watch with alien eyes
         This World's remote and unremembered skies;
         While around me weary rise
The babblings of a foreign speech.

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