< Page:Collected poems of Flecker.djvu
THE END
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O ship, O fire, O fancy ! A swift roar
Has rent the brow of night. Thou nevermore
Shalt glide to channel port or Syrian town;
Light ghosts have danced thee like a plummet down,
And, swift as Fate through skies with storm bestrewn,
Dips out ironical that ship New Moon.
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