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
In scornful upright loneliness they stand, Counting themselves no kin of anything Whether of earth or sky. Their gnarled roots cling Like wasted fingers of a clutching hand In the grim rock. A silent spectral band They watch the old sky, but hold no communing With aught. Only, when some lone eagle's wing Flaps past above their grey and desolate land, Or when the wind pants up a rough-hewn glen, Bending them down as with an age of thought, Or when, 'mid flying clouds that can not dull Her constant light, the moon shines silver, then They find a soul, and their dim moan is wrought Into a singing sad and beautiful.