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Fair Weather

 This level reach of blue is not my sea;
Here are sweet waters, pretty in the sun,
Whose quiet ripples meet obediently
A marked and measured line, one after one.
This is no sea of mine.
that humbly laves Untroubled sands, spread glittering and warm.
I have a need of wilder, crueler waves; They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.
So let a love beat over me again, Loosing its million desperate breakers wide; Sudden and terrible to rise and wane; Roaring the heavens apart; a reckless tide That casts upon the heart, as it recedes, Splinters and spars and dripping, salty weeds.

by Dorothy Parker
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