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on the Island of my Desolation I look across the wastes of azure sea; None of the ships that pass in exaltation Have any cargo or commands for me.

Not in the red of any joyous morning, Not in the gold of any sunset light, Will they run up the flag to give me warning That the so longed-for vessel looms in sight.

Sometimes I light the beacon fires of passion To lure frail pleasure craft towards the shore, Join the night revels in half-hearted fashion Only to wake more lonely than before.

Now and again some friendly soul has landed, Taken his careless welcome; sailed away, And in the time of tempest, ships have stranded, Spilling rich merchandise about the bay.

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