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1862–1938

III

Henry John Newbolt

In a blue dusk the ship astern Uplifts her slender spars, With golden lights that seem to burn Among the silver stars.

Like fleets along a cloudy shore The constellations creep, Like planets on the ocean floor Our silent course we keep.

And over the endless plain, Out of the night forlorn Rises a faint refrain, A song of the day to be born —

Watch, oh watch till ye find again Life and the land of morn. From a dim West to a dark East Our lines unwavering head,

As if their motion long had ceased And Time itself were dead. Vainly we watch the deep below, Vainly the void above,

They died a thousand years ago — Life and the land we love. But over the endless plain, Out of the night forlorn

Rises a faint refrain, A song of the day to be born — Watch, oh watch till ye find again Life and the land of morn.

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III · Henry John Newbolt · Poetry Cove