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To The Master Of The Meteor By Herman Melville  |
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 Lonesome on earth's loneliest deep, Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep— Off the Cape of Storms dost musing sweep Over monstrous waves that curl and comb; Of thee we think when here from brink We blow the mead in bubbling foam. Of thee we think, in a ring we link; To the shearer of ocean's fleece we drink, And the Meteor rolling home. | |||||||||||||
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