B. P. Avery: The Lone Pine

SWAY thy top, thou ancient pine—
  Warrior of the storm commanding!
Lone upon the mountain standing,
Whom no ivy’s arms entwine.
Melancholy souls like mine,        5
  ’Neath thy shadow passing slow,
Love to hear thy plaintive moan;
  ’Tis an echo of the woe
Found in human breasts alone.
Mournfully amid the ruins        10
  Of thy fellows standest thou,
Like a column of some temple
Living but in story now;
All around it, wildly scattered,
Fallen walls and pillars shattered.        15
Softly sighing through thy branches
  Sounds the wind, with fall and swell;
Now retreats, and now advances,
  Rousing fancy with its spell,
Like the melody that chances        20
  On the ear from distant bell,
Or the murmur that entrances
  Of the tinted sea-side shell.
Lo! musing on thy loneliness,
  Thy brethren seem again to rise;        25
On every hand a wilderness
  Shuts out the prospect of the skies.
’Tis verdure all, and deepest shade, no sound
Disturbs the thoughtful silence, save
A murmur such as rolls through Ocean cave,        30
And rustling of dry leaves upon the ground.
But while I listen with an awe profound,
A glance dispels the visionary wood—
A single tree remains where late ten thousand stood.

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Główna Czytelnia Wiersze B. P. Avery: The Lone Pine
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