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[68] We saw in richer sunsets lost
     The sombre pomp of showery noons;
And signalled spectral sails that crossed
     The weird, low light of rising moons.

On stormy eves from cliff and head
     We saw the white spray tossed and spurned;
While over all, in gold and red,
     Its face of fire the lighthouse turned.

The rail-car brought its daily crowds,
     Half curious, half indifferent,
Like passing sails or floating clouds,
     We saw them as they came and went.

But, one calm morning, as we lay
     And watched the mirage-lifted wall
Of coast, across the dreamy bay,
     And heard afar the curlew call,

And nearer voices, wild or tame,
     Of airy flock and childish throng,
Up from the water's edge there came
     Faint snatches of familiar song.

Careless we heard the singer's choice
     Of old and common airs; at last
The tender pathos of his voice
     In one low chanson held us fast.

A song that mingled joy and pain,
     And memories old and sadly sweet;

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