The Pine At Timber-Line

What has bent you,
Warped and twisted you,
Torn and crippled you?
What has embittered you,
O lonely tree?
You search the rocks for a footing,
dragging scrawny roots;
You bare your thin breast to the storms,
and fling out wild arms behind you;
You throw back your witch-like head,
with wisps of hair stringing the wind.
You fight with the snows,
You rail and shriek at the tempests.
Old before your time, you challenge the cold stars.
Be still, be satisfied!
Stand straight like your brothers in the valley,
The soft green valley of summer down below.
Why front the endless winter of the peak?
Why seize the lightning in your riven hands?
Why cut the driven wind and shriek aloud?
Why tarry here?