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Poetry Monster

The Isle Of Portland poem – A. E. Housman

The star-filled seas are smooth tonight

From France to England strown;

Black towers above 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 you ever found the day.