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Sunk Lyonesse

Rating: 2.9

In sea-cold Lyonesse,
When the Sabbath eve shafts down
On the roofs, walls, belfries
Of the foundered town,
The Nereids pluck their lyres
Where the green translucency beats,
And with motionless eyes at gaze
Make ministrely in the streets.

And the ocean water stirs

In salt-worn casement and porch.
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7/20/2021 1:46:14 PM # 1.0.0.663