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LIX. The Isle of Portland

by A. E. Housman, 1896

The star-filled seas are smooth to-night
 From France to England strown;
Black towers above the Portland light
 The felon-quarried stone.

On yonder island, not to rise,
 Never to stir forth free,
Far from his folk a dead lad lies
 That once was friends with me.

Lie you easy, dream you light,
 And sleep you fast for aye;
And luckier may you find the night
 Than ever you found the day.

Published in A Shropshire Lad

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