A Winter Sunset

By George Sterling

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 or pinions westward flown.
Glad weather, fellow traveler!
    To-night I also fare alone.

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