It is good for strength not to be merciful <br />To its own weakness, good for the deep urn to run <br /> over, good to explore <br />The peaks and the deeps, who can endure it, <br />Good to be hurt, who can be healed afterward: but <br /> you that have whetted consciousness <br />Too bitter an edge, too keenly daring, <br />So that the color of a leaf can make you tremble <br /> and your own thoughts like harriers <br />Tear the live mind: were your bones mountains, <br />Your blood rivers to endure it? and all that labor <br /> of discipline labors to death. <br />Delight is exquisite, pain is more present; <br />You have sold the armor, you have bought shining <br /> with burning, one should be stronger than <br /> strength <br />To fight baresark in the stabbing field <br />In the rage of the stars: I tell you unconsciousness <br /> is the treasure, the tower, the fortress; <br />Referred to that one may live anything; <br />The temple and the tower: poor dancer on the flints <br /> and shards in the temple porches, turn home. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Holt<br /><br />Robinson Jeffers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-young-artist/
