How these great jagged mountains

Hem me in!

I dwell in a deep fog-encircled bowl

That with its ragged edges

Cuts the dawn and sunset

From my beauty-hungered soul!

All that the world

Of sea and prairie knows,

I never see nor hear,

Within my boundary line;

I am a prisoner of mist and rock

And feed my eyes on naught but gnarled pine.


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