How sick’—to wait’—in any place’—but thine’—
I knew last night’—when someone tried to twine’—
Thinking’—perhaps’—that I looked tired’—or alone’—
Or breaking’—almost’—with unspoken pain’—
And I turned’—ducal’—
That right’—was thine’—
One port’—suffices’—for a Brig’—like mine’—
Ours be the tossing’—wild though the sea’—
Rather than a Mooring’—unshared by thee.
Ours be the Cargo’—unladed’—here’—
Rather than the "spicy isles’—”
And thou’—not there’—

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