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But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by
dark or day I heave them whole to the conger or rip their
plates away, First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking
sky, Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag
goes by.
The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it the frozen
dews have kissed The morning stars have hailed it, a fellow-star in
the mist. What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my
breath to dare, Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for
it is there 1 '
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