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On the Sea
by John Keats
It keeps eternal whisperings around
Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell
Of
Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.
Often 'tis in such gentle temper found,
That scarcely will the very smallest shell
Be moved for days from whence it sometime fell,
When last the winds of heaven were unbound.
Oh ye! who have your eye-balls vexed and tired,
Feast them upon the wideness of the
Sea;
Oh ye! whose ears are dinned with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying
melody,—
Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood
Until ye start, as if the
sea-nymphs choired!
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