We plucked down all His altars, left not one Save where, perchance (and ah, the joy was fleet), We laid our garlands in the sun At the white Sea-born's feet. (Alfred Noyes)

We plucked down all His altars, left not one Save where, perchance (and ah, the joy was fleet), We laid our garlands in the sun At the white Sea-born's feet.

Alfred Noyes

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