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Thomas Buchanan Read

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Yon deep bark goes
Where Traffic blows
From lands of sun to lands of snows;—
Yon happier one,
Its course is run
From lands of snow to lands of sun.
--
Drifting.

 
Thomas Buchanan Read

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The ocean ate the last of the land and poured into the smoking gulf, thereby giving up all it had ever conquered. From the new-flooded lands it flowed again, uncovering death and decay; and from its ancient and immemorial bed it trickled loathsomely, uncovering nighted secrets of the years when Time was young and the gods unborn. Above the waves rose weedy remembered spires. The moon laid pale lilies of light on dead London, and Paris stood up from its damp grave to be sanctified with star-dust. Then rose spires and monoliths that were weedy but not remembered; terrible spires and monoliths of lands that men never knew were lands...

 
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