The mad girl with the staring eyes and long white fingers <br />Hooked in the stones of the wall, <br />The storm-wrack hair and screeching mouth: does it matter, Cassandra, <br />Whether the people believe <br />Your bitter fountain? Truly men hate the truth, they'd liefer <br />Meet a tiger on the road. <br />Therefore the poets honey their truth with lying; but religion— <br />Vendors and political men <br />Pour from the barrel, new lies on the old, and are praised for kind <br />Wisdom. Poor bitch be wise. <br />No: you'll still mumble in a corner a crust of truth, to men <br />And gods disgusting—you and I, Cassandra.<br /><br />Robinson Jeffers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cassandra-9/
