Are the champions of yearning
They go straight up I feel
To a victory of fronds
While here below the traffic hums
Of lesser mortals
They go on welcoming
The old gods of a loftier reason
So nothing is sadder
Than a row of beheaded palm trees
Standing alone in the desert
Or a long street bordered by giant ones
Whose wide leaves lift
And murmur above us
Their hymns of praise
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