| now the new year reviving old desires
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| the restless soul to open sea aspires
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| where the blue peter flickers from the fore
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| where the blue peter flickers from the fore
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| and the grimed stoker feeds the engine-fires
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| and the grimed stoker feeds the engine-fires
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| the tragedy of all our east is laid
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| on those white decks beneath the awening shade
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| birth, absence, longing, laughter, love and tears
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| birth, absence, longing, laughter, love and tears
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| and death unmaking ere the land is made
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| and death unmaking ere the land is made
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| and midnight madnesses of souls distraught
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| who the cool seas call through the open port
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| so that the table lacks one place next morn
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| so that the table lacks one place next morn
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| and for one forenoon men forgo their sport
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| and for one forenoon men forgo their sport
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| but we the gipsies of the east, but we
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| waifs of the land and wastrels of the sea
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| come nearer home beneath the quartered flag
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| come nearer home beneath the quartered flag
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| than ever home shall come to such as we
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| than ever home shall come to such as we |