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THE ripples break upon the beach,
And sway the shadow of the heights;
The long slant beams that shoreward reach
Are fretted in a thousand lights.
But on the shore the stillness dreams,
In the blue sky the hill-tops sleep,
And through the haze of golden gleams
The quiet shadows show more deep.
Oh silent hills! oh sleeping shore!
Soon shall I lose you in the grey
Of stealthy evening creeping o'er,
Of evening darkening o'er the bay.
Oh silent hills! oh sleeping shore!
The waning light will come again,
But I shall look on you no more,
For me morn wakens you in vain.
Sleep on, fair shore and sun-loved hills -
I seek the land where I was born;
I seek the grey north with its chills;
I shall not look on you at morn.
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