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As o'er the gilt waters, dream-sweet and afar,
Their hearts travel outward, where, lost like a star
That fell from their heaven, Owyhee reclines.

IV.

They buy not, they sell not the joy and the care
Of living and toiling are theirs nevermore;
But, lonesome and weary, and calm with despair,
They sing their strange songs and sit braiding their hair,
Till day has gone down, and the curtain of light
Has passed from the tenderer vision of night,
And dim shadows move on the silvering shore.

V.

What reck they of battle or council, or all
The hope or endeavor of laboring time!
The golden fruit ripens, the white loon will call
Where the broad wave is richest and all things befall
That stricken souls need in a bountiful isle,
Caressed by the sun and bedight with his smile,
The blossom and crown of the tropical clime.

VI.

And thus, while the scheming and passionate world
Is building and wrecking, and building anew,
A strange ship at anchor, her canvas all furled,
While suns set in purple, and moon is impearled.
Lies low Molokai, and the indolent palm

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