Page:Andromeda, and other poems - Kingsley (1858).djvu/106

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94
THE LAST BUCCANEER.
viii.And now I'm old and going—I'm sure I can't tell where;One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off there:If I might be but a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main,To the pleasant Isle of Avès, to look at it once again.
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