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THE angry sunset fades from out the
west,
A glimmering greyness creeps along the sea,
Wild waves be hushed and moan into your rest,
Soon will all earth be sleeping, why not ye?
Far off the heavens deaden o'er with sleep,
The purple twilight darkens on the hill,
Why will ye only ever wake and weep?
I weary of your sighing, oh! be still.
But ever ever moan ye by the shore,
While all your trouble surges in my breast.
Oh waves of trouble surge in me no more,
Or be but still awhile and let me rest.
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