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 But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by

dark or day I heave them whole to the conger or rip their

plates away, First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking

sky, Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag

goes by.

The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it the frozen

dews have kissed The morning stars have hailed it, a fellow-star in

the mist. What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my

breath to dare, Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for

it is there 1 '

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