Robinson Jeffers

(10 January 1887 – 20 January 1962 / Allegheny, Pennsylvania)

The Bird With The Dark Plumes - Poem by Robinson Jeffers

The bird with the dark plumes in my blood,
That never for one moment however I patched my truces
Consented to make peace with the people,
It is pitiful now to watch her pleasure In a breath of
tempest
Breaking the sad promise of spring.
Are these that morose hawk's wings, vaulting, a mere
mad swallow's,
The snow-shed peak, the violent precipice?
Poor outlaw that would not value their praise do you
prize their blame?
"Their liking" she said "was a long creance,
But let them be kind enough to hate me that opens the
sky."
It is almost as foolish my poor falcon
To want hatred as to want love; and harder to win.



Submitted by Holt


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Read poems about / on: hate, snow, sad, spring, peace, people, dark, sky



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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