Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/28

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Second Woman. Never spill your wine   Upon a page of mathematics.   Drink it decently   Within the usual tavern.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseMaxwell Bodenheim


PINE TREES
The pine trees patiently unstitch The brightness of this afternoon,But while they work their pungent thoughts Are longing for the dulcet moon.
The pine trees only live at night When moonlight brings them silver eyes;Throughout the day they stand like blind Green beggars, uttering restless cries.
At night they listen to the words Of winds from far-off mountain rims,And feel the reckless grief that springs From those who stand with prisoned limbs.
The Literary ReviewMaxwell BodenheimN. Y. Evening Post

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