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Away—o'er the wave to the home we are seeking, Bark of my hope! ere the evening be gone; There's a wild, wild note in the curlew's shrieking; There's a whisper of death in the wind's low moan.

Though blue and bright are the heavens above me, And the stars are asleep on the quiet sea; And hearts I love, and hearts that love me, Are beating beside me merrily:

Yet, far in the west, where the day's faded roses, Touched by the moonbeam, are withering fast; Where the half-seen spirit of twilight reposes, Hymning the dirge of the hours that are past—

There, where the ocean-wave sparkles at meeting (As sunset dreams tell us) the kiss of the sky, On his dim, dark cloud is the infant storm sitting, And beneath the horizon his lightnings are nigh.