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THE THREE SHIPS
5
To some far realm ye were sailing on,
Where all we have lost shall yet be won;

Ye were bearing thither a world of dreams,
Bright as that sunset's golden gleams;

And hopes whose tremulous, rosy flush,
Grew fairer still in the twilight hush.

Ye were bearing hence to that mystic sphere
Thoughts no mortal may utter here,—

Songs that on earth may not be sung,—
Words too holy for human tongue,—

The golden deeds that we would have done,—
The fadeless wreaths that we would have won!

And hence it was that our souls with you
Traversed the measureless waste of blue,

Till you passed under the sunset gate,
And to us a voice said, softly, "Wait!"