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Hillside Trees

ISSUE:  Spring 1930

BLACK trees against a marble hill Of January snow declare New England to whoever will Behold them darkly standing there.
Unveiled of leaves, bereft of sun Save now and then a grudging dole,
They stand like berserks every one,
Denied the berserks’ wassail-bowl.
On days less friendly to the dark,
Chastened, they climb the little rise,
And lift slim hands in prayer to mark Their kinship with ascetic skies—
A kinship whose serene repose On mornings after snow has blown Dwells deepest on the branch that throws Blue shadows over walls of stone.


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