Late August Fire in the evening Above the dying hemlocks. Sun sets in splendor.
Late In August
Late August Fire in the evening. Above the dying hemlocks, Sun sets in splendor.
Sitting Quietly
Sitting Quietly What the hemlocks know They tell the wind, and the wind May tell you. Be still.
Two Poems by Robinson Jeffers
The Bloody Sire It is not bad. Let them play. Let the guns bark and the bombing-plane Speak his prodigious blasphemies. It is not bad, it is high time, Stark violence is still the sire of all the world’s values. What but the wolf’s tooth whittled so fine The fleet limbs of the antelope? What
She Moved Through The Fair
My young love said to me, “My mother won’t mind, And my father won’t spite you For your lack of kind.” Then she stepped away from me, And this she did say: “It will not be long, love, Till our wedding day.” She stepped away from me And she moved through the fair, And fondly