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Canto IX

Fair ship, that from the Italian shore    Sailest the placid ocean-plains    With my lost Arthur's loved remains, Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er.

So draw him home to those that mourn    In vain; a favourable speed    Ruffle thy mirror'd mast, and lead Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn.

All night no ruder air perplex    Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright    As our pure love, thro' early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks.

Sphere all your lights around, above;    Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow;    Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now, My friend, the brother of my love;

My Arthur, whom I shall not see   Till all my widow'd race be run;   Dear as the mother to the son, More than my brothers are to me.

-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto IX

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