Vintage verse – Mountain Pines by Robinson Jeffers

Mountain Pines

In scornful upright loneliness they stand,
. . . .Counting themselves no kin of anything
. . . .Whether of earth or sky. Their gnarled roots cling
Like wasted fingers of a clutching hand
In the grim rock. A silent spectral band
. . . .They watch the old sky, but hold no communing
. . . .With aught. Only, when some lone eagle’s wing
Flaps past above their grey and desolate land,
Or when the wind pants up a rough-hewn glen,
. . . .Bending them down as with an age of thought,
. . . .Or when, ‘mid flying clouds that can not dull
Her constant light, the moon shines silver, then
. . . .They find a soul, and their dim moan is wrought
. . . .Into a singing sad and beautiful.

by Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962)

Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim

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