The winds, as at their hour of birth,
Leaning upon the ridged sea,
Breathed low around the rolling earth
With mellow preludes, We are free.
The streams, through many a lilied row
Down-carolling to the crisped sea,
Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow
Atween the blossoms, We are free.
Song: The Winds, As At Their Hour Of Birth
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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