A Country Not Yet Visited

A ship that sails away
From sullen harbor gray,
Through fluid crystal, sways
For shores beyond malaise. 

The unkempt grass that hums
A hymn composed by wind,
A tune of praise that drums 
For opened eyes, once blind. 

The sun, which warms and burns
All vanity below,
Calls, too, beyond shadow
Above the earth’s slight churns.

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