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A Cambridge friend put in,—one whom I used

To pay small rope at chess to, who in vain

Luffed up to free a rook,—and through the strain

Of ten-year-old talk cocktails partly loosed

I forgot you, forgot you, for the first

Hour in months of watches . . Mozart’s pain

I heard then, in the cranny of the hurricane,

As since the chrisom caught me up immersed

I have heard nothing but the sough of the sea

And wide upon the open sea my friend

The sea-wind crying, out of its cave to roam

No more, no more . . until my memory

Swung you back like a lock: I sing the end,

Tolerant Aeolus to call me home.