Robinson Jeffers Poems

The old voice of the ocean, the bird-chatter of little rivers,
(Winter has given them gold for silver
...

I chose the bed downstairs by the sea-window for a good death-bed
When we built the house, it is ready waiting,
...

The storm-dances of gulls, the barking game of seals,
Over and under the ocean…
Divinely superfluous beauty
...

The dog barked; then the woman stood in the doorway, and hearing
iron strike stone down the steep road
...

Inside a cave in a narrow canyon near Tassajara
The vault of rock is painted with hands,
...

Hope is not for the wise, fear is for fools;
Change and the world, we think, are racing to a fall,
...

Spirits and illusions have died,
The naked mind lives
In the beauty of inanimate things.
...

Man, introverted man, having crossed
In passage and but a little with the nature of things this latter
century
...

That sculptor we knew, the passionate-eyed son of a quarryman,
Who astonished Rome and Paris in his meteor youth, and then
...

It is likely enough that lions and scorpions
Guard the end; life never was bonded to be endurable nor the
act of dying
...