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Rh Ships that down the long seas blow, Gulls that slope the winter stars, Ye that earth's wide highways know, Gleam of white wings, gloom of spars,

Ye that follow shattered suns, Ye that seek the smouldering day, Lead me where the long road runs, Lead me your desired way.

Through the intricate dim mind Seek I after splendid things, Never hearing where, behind Pulse of brain, the high soul sings.

Toward the mirror of myself, Down the ways my own feet trace, Seek I the eternal God, Find I there—the seeker's face.

Teach me utterly to leave This blind dream within a dream, Where the mole-like senses weave Out of their deep night a gleam;