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Poem

‘Whither, thou turbid wave?
Whither, with so much haste,
As if a thief wert thou?’

‘I am the Wave of Life,
Stained with my margin’s dust;
From the struggle and the strife
Of the narrow stream I fly
To the Sea’s immensity,
To wash from me the slime
Of the muddy banks of Time.’

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The Warden Of The Cinque Ports. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
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