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Poem by Lloyd Mifflin
I LAY on Delos of the Cyclades At evening, on a cape of golden land; The blind Bard’s book was open in my hand, There where the Cyclops makes the Odyssey’s Calm pages tremble as Odysseus flees. Then, stately, like a mirage o’er the sand, A phantom ship across the sunset strand Rose out of dreams and clave the purple seas; Straight on that city’s bastions did she run— Whose toppling turrets on their donjons hold Bells that to mortal ears have never tolled— Then drifted down the gateways of the sun With fading pennon and with gonfalon, And cast her anchors in the pools of gold.
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