Robinson Jeffers Poems
|121.||The Silent Shepherds||1/13/2003|
|122.||The Songs Of The Dead Men To The Three Dancers||4/12/2010|
|123.||The Stars Go Over The Lonely Ocean||1/13/2003|
|124.||The Summit Redwood||1/13/2003|
|125.||The Tower Beyond Tragedy||4/12/2010|
|128.||The Truce And The Peace||4/12/2010|
|129.||The Wind-Struck Music||4/12/2010|
|131.||Theory Of Truth||4/12/2010|
|133.||Time Of Disturbance||1/13/2003|
|134.||To A Young Artist||1/13/2003|
|135.||To Helen About Her Hair||11/20/2014|
|136.||To His Father||4/12/2010|
|137.||To The House||4/12/2010|
|138.||To The Rock That Will Be A Cornerstone Of The House||4/12/2010|
|139.||To The Stone-Cutters||1/13/2003|
The broken pillar of the wing jags from the clotted shoulder,
The wing trails like a banner in defeat,
No more to use the sky forever but live with famine
And pain a few days: cat nor coyote
Will shorten the week of waiting for death, there is game without talons.
He stands under the oak-bush and waits
The lame feet of salvation; at night he remembers freedom
And flies in a dream, the dawns ruin it.
He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.
The curs of the day come and torment him
At distance, no one but death the ...
The Atlantic is a stormy moat; and the Mediterranean,
The blue pool in the old garden,
More than five thousand years has drunk sacrifice
Of ships and blood, and shines in the sun; but here the Pacific--
Our ships, planes, wars are perfectly irrelevant.
Neither our present blood-feud with the brave dwarfs
Nor any future world-quarrel of westering
And eastering man, the bloody migrations, greed of power, clash of