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I thought I saw them writhing in the dawn

On cold, black hills -the gnarled and twisted ghosts

Of Titan cedars and the sapling hosts

That stood so starkly naked an forlong.

Poor stricken things that bore the forms of men

And forms of beasts; great gorgons unreclaimed

By childhood's gracious fancy. Did I then

Declare that they had been forever maimed?

Tall aspens writhing like beheaded snakes,

And cypresses with lean, distorted necks,

And stunted hemlocks in the riven brakes

That fringed the garments of the oaken wrecks.

Oh, did I stand and curse them, one by one,

That were so lovely once beneath the sun?