Here is a symbol in which Many high tragic thoughts Watch their own eyes. This gray rock, standing tall On the headland, where the seawind Lets no tree grow, Earthquake-proved, and signatured By ages of storms: on its peak A falcon has perched. I think, here is your emblem To hang in the future sky; Not the cross, not the hive, But this; bright power, dark peace; Fierce consciousness joined with final Disinterestedness; Life with calm death; the falcon's Realist eyes and act Married to the massive Mysticism of stone, Which failure cannot cast down Nor success make proud.
Robinson Jeffers - 1887-1962
The First Grass
It rained three autumn days; then close to frost Under clear starlight the night shivering was. The dawn rose cold and colorless as glass, And when we wakened rains and clouds were lost. The ocean surged and shouted stormy-tossed. I went down to companion him. Alas, What faint voice by the way? The sudden grass Cried with thin lips as I the valley crossed, Saying blade by blade, “Although the warm sweet rain Awakened us, this world is all too cold. We never dreamed it thus.”—”Your champion bold Is risen,” I said; “he in an hour or twain Will comfort you.” I passed. Above the dune Stood the wan splendorless daylight-waning moon.