When I feel the sadness of the years
That should have been so glad,
And blessed with streams
Of lovely moments
Strung on dreams,
I cry—
And, when I hear the sea at dawn
Filling the sand with sound
And coloured things,
Under the daily
Western wind,
I pray—
Before all time and tide is done,
May all the reflections in the sun
Bring up from the glancing glass-like flame
Searching the stormy sea within—
One pure and perfect thing!
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Zach