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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Anne Spencer Twitchell

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

To a Mountain Pine

Anne Spencer Twitchell

O LONELY pine

Upon your granite cliff,

I know your pain—

Tossing your weird arms

To the mighty winds,

Beating your ragged breast

With shrunken hands.

I know your pain,

For I have stood

On such high, dawn-kissed peaks,

And flung my arms

And beat with futile hands,

Because I still was held

To stone and clod

By sullen roots

Of unremembered lives.