The sails we see on the ocean, Are as white as white can be; But never one in the harbor, As white as the sails at sea.

The clouds that crown the mountains W'ith purple and golden light, Turn to cold gray mist and vapor, Ere ever we reach the height.

The mountains wear crowns of glory, Only when seen from afar; And the sails lose all their whiteness, Inside of the harbor bar.

Oh, Distance, thou dear enchanter, Still hold in thy magic veil, The glory of far - off mountains, The gleam of the far-off sail

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