Page:The Man with the Hoe, Markham, 1900.djvu/75

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The Wharf of Dreams

Strange wares are handled on the wharves of sleep:
Shadows of shadows pass, and many a light
Flashes a signal fire across the night;
Barges depart whose voiceless steersmen keep
Their way without a star upon the deep;
And from lost ships, homing with ghostly crews,
Come cries of incommunicable news,
While cargoes pile the piers, a moon-white heap—


Budgets of dream-dust, merchandise of song,

Wreckage of hope and packs of ancient wrong,

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