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    Les Silhouettes

    by Oscar Wilde
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    The sea is flecked with bars of grey,
    The dull dead wind is out of tune,
    And like a withered leaf the moon
    Is blown across the stormy bay.

    Etched clear upon the pallid sand
    Lies the black boat: a sailor boy
    Clambers aboard in careless joy
    With laughing face and gleaming hand.

    And overhead the curlews cry,
    Where through the dusky upland grass
    The young brown-throated reapers pass,
    Like silhouettes against the sky.
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