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There seems no wind in all the land.
Austere against the fading light
I see a lonely cypress stand,
As carved from steel and malachite.


Beyond, a single sea-bird flies
To gain its far and craggy home
Below the lemon-colored skies--
An ocean-islet ringed with foam.


In all the land there seems no stir
Save that of pinions westward flown.
Glad weather, fellow traveler!
Tonight I also fare alone.