AMERICAN FORESTRY 



759 



By One Who Knows Their Spell 



"Poet of Harney Peak" 



GUARDIAN OF THE POOLS" AT SYLVAN LAKE 



Ah, Frozen-face, with melancholy pose, 



With cold, sarcastic smile and deadened eye; 



What means that stubborn jaw and upturned nose? 

 Why show such gloomy face / ask thee why? 



Oh why so silent-lipped and sternly grim? 



How can thy eye remain so chill and dull? 

 What seest thou beyond yon distant rim? 



What secret thoughts lie in that granite skull? 



What soured thy disposition. Pompadour? 



The world is not so hopeless as it seems; 

 Come on, don't be a pessimistic bore 



Brace up and grin forget thy grouchy dreams. 



THE NEEDLES OF THE BLACK HILLS 



Stately and grand in a row they stand, 



Cloaked in a somber hue. 

 Shaming the pines with their slender spines 



Piercing the asure blue. 

 Silent and gray in a vast array, 



A vision that awes and thrills; 

 Holding sublime in contempt of time 



The Needle Rocks of the Hills. 



"THE WHITE RIVER" BAD LANDS 



Ghastly and weird with your jagged peaks 



Bleached to the color of dead men's bones 

 Gloomy defiles where the wild wind shrieks 



Hideous menace in ghostlff, groans. 

 Nakedness slashed with a bloody red; 



Caverns where demons alone could dwell; 

 Land of despair and of things long dead 



Bad Lands, forsooth, and an unlit Hell. 



