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|A Wind of Clear Weather in England|
O what a miracle wind is this |
Has crossed the English land to-day
With an unprecedented kiss,
And wonderfully found a way!
Unsmirched incredibly and clean, |
Between the towns and factories,
Avoiding, has his long flight been,
Bringing a sky like Sicily’s.
O fine escape, horizon pure |
As Rome’s! Black chimneys left and right,
But not for him, the straight, the sure,
His luminous day, his spacious night.
How keen his choice, how swift his feet! |
Narrow the way and hard to find!
This delicate stepper and discreet
Walked not like any worldly wind.
Most like a man in man’s own day, |
One of the few, a perfect one:
His open earththe single way;
His narrow roadthe open sun.
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Lane Core Jr. (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Created April 10, 2001; not revised.