Like flight of falcons far from natal nest,
pride urging where men misery refuse,
from Palos Muguer captains and their crews
flew, drunk with dreams heroic, brutal zest.
They sought with golden conquest to be blessed
which long at rest in far off mines they’d choose
in Cipango. Sweet winds led on their cruise
towards that wonderland far to the West.
Each night they slept in hope of epic quest,
the tropic seas’ soft phosphorescent blues
cast spells on golden dreams, a siren muse,
or, leaning for’ard over white sails dressed,
they watched while on a canvas none then knew
from Ocean depths new stars rose up anew.
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