A strong wind sang sadly as it bent the trees in front of the Hall.

Still the dark world seemed to be rushing by, and a wind sang loudly in his ears.

The sun shines, the wind sings its usual note, or goes quiet.

Only the wind sang, and its voice was no more than a moan.

There was a silence, into which only the wind softly sang.

The dark world was rushing by and the wind sang loudly in his ears.

The wind sang wildly through the fir trees all around them.

The wind sang in the turns of the steep ancient spiral.

The wind no longer sang to him, but made its own way, heedless and alone, through the leaves above.

The wind sang through the plane's limbs, voices I couldn't place.