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 You cannot rest so far from home,

Your heart will miss the northern wind,

Back from the lowland fields will com«.

Your soul the grave can never bind.

Once more your hands will trim the sail

That carries us across the bay

To where the summer islands pale

Over the seas and far away.

And you will sail and watch with me

The things we saw and loved before.

The happy islands of the sea,

The breakers white against the shore.

A hundred joys that we held dear

Will call you from the Flanders town,

And in the evenings I shall hear

Your chorus of the Nighean doun.