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230 Rend the garment from the soul ; let it go, we care not where ; What do mortals want with spirit? 'tis the bodies that are fair. Out beyond the green horizon lurks the vengeful day, Lurks the fateful day, Lurks the hateful day, When the winds shall cease to help us in our shark-like play, When our calm cold sway Shall have passed away, When the wreckers and the wrecked both at peace shall be, — When the threat shall be fulfilled, and there be no more sea.