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Near, for the very grey-green sea that dashes 'Round these Canadian coasts, rolls out once more To Eastward, and the same Atlantic splashes Her wild white spray on England's distant shore.

Near, for the same young moon so idly swinging Her threadlike crescent bends the selfsame smile On that old land from whence a ship is bringing My message from the transatlantic Isle.

Thus loves my heart that far old country better, Because of those dear words that always come, With love enfolded in each English letter That drifts into my sun-kissed Western home.