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when heats as of a tropic clime
     Burned all our inland valleys through,
Three friends, the guests of summer time,
     Pitched their white tent where sea-winds blew.
Behind them, marshes, seamed and crossed
     With narrow creeks, and flower-embossed,
Stretched to the dark oak wood, whose leafy arms
     Screened from the stormy East the pleasant inland farms.

At full of tide their bolder shore
     Of sun-bleached sand the waters beat;
At ebb, a smooth and glistening floor
     They touched with light, receding feet.
Northward a green bluff broke the chain
     Of sand-hills; southward stretched a plain
Of salt grass, with a river winding down,
     Sail-whitened, and beyond the steeples of the town,

Whence sometimes, when the wind was light
     And dull the thunder of the beach,
They heard the bells of morn and night
     Swing, miles away, their silver speech.
Above low scarp and turf-grown wall
     They saw the fort-flag rise and fall;
And the first star to signal twilight's hour,
     The lamp-fire glimmer down from the tall light. house tower.

They rested there, escaped awhile
     From cares that wear the life away,
To eat the lotus of the Nile
     And drink the poppies of Cathay,—

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Cathay (North Dakota, United States) (1)

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