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52

Whether my bark went down at sea—
Whether she met with gales—
Whether to isles enchanted
She bent her docile sails—

By what mystic mooring
She is held today—
This is the errand of the eye
Out upon the Bay.

Added: 12 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 4:58 PM | Viewed: 7066 times

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