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.
(Robinson Jeffers)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Sadness Poems, Spring Poems, People Poems, Praise Poems, Violence PoemsBased on Keywords: pitiful, hatred, precipice, liking, falcon, vaulting, outlaw, consented, patched, morose, truces
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