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Laughing Mauves

He fled beyond sea-roads, in mists;
where sirens' songs enchant sea men,
in fogs odd sorrows are dismissed,
shorelines' harpsichord organists,
betimes to keep requests withheld,
conceptual forms are nuptial veiled,
residing schemes in mind's earnest,
where scopes spread on white sails.

But when he called the maid's sprite
her wraith like clouds fled to aboves;
shoreline of rocks was fogged in sight,
remote the beacon's sends dim light,
where solitude wore velvet gloves,
and blurred horizons' mist to trust,
sea men (old ghosts) will dance at night,
and laugh in fields of greens and mauves.

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