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AMERICAN FORESTRY 



THE MONARCH PINE 



By LEON T CHAMBERLAIN 



Straight, and g'aunt, and grim. 



He stands on the canyon s rim. 



And lifts his knotted arms 



To the winter s mighty storms. 



And roars as they rail at him. 



As he mounted to the stars 



Through a century or wars 



With the winds — those hitter roes 

 Left the story of their blows 



In a thousand ragged scars. 



When the summer sun smiles down 

 On his royal, pinioned crown 

 Ills myriad needles sing 

 The love songs of a king. 

 And he smooths his hattle frown. 



In the warm, impassioned night. 

 With a thrill of keen delight. 

 His softest tassels sigh 

 To the nighthirds flitting hy. 

 And the breezes aimless flight. 



Thus the Titan reigns alone 

 O er a monarchy of stone. 



And his paeans never cease; 



Martial airs or notes of peace 

 Pour eternal round his throne. 



