"I hate my verses, every line, every word. <br />Oh pale and brittle pencils ever to try <br />One grass-blade's curve, or the throat of one bird <br />That clings to twig, ruffled against white sky. <br />Oh cracked and twilight mirrors ever to catch <br />One color, one glinting <br />Hash, of the splendor of things. <br />Unlucky hunter, Oh bullets of wax, <br />The lion beauty, the wild-swan wings, the storm of the wings." <br />--This wild swan of a world is no hunter's game. <br />Better bullets than yours would miss the white breast <br />Better mirrors than yours would crack in the flame. <br />Does it matter whether you hate your . . . self? <br />At least Love your eyes that can see, your mind that can <br />Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.<br /><br />Robinson Jeffers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-the-wild-swan/
