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The Archipelago By Herman Melville |
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Sail before the morning breeze The Sporads through and Cyclades They look like isles of absentees- Gone whither? You bless Apollo's cheering ray, But Delos, his own isle, today Not e'en a Selkirk there to pray God friend me! Scarce lone these groups, scarce lone and bare When Theseus roved a Raleigh there, Each isle a small Virginia fair- Unravished. Nor less through havoc fell they rue, They still retain in outline true Their grace of form when earth was new And primal. But beauty clear, the frame's as yet, Never shall make one quite forget Thy picture, Pan, therein once set- Life's revel! 'Tis Polynesia reft of palms, Seaward no valley breathes her balms- Not such as musk thy rings of calms, Marquesas! | |||||||||||||
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