How shall the dead taste the deep treasure they have?

(Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), U.S. poet. Promise of Peace (l. 14). . . Modern American Poetry. Louis Untermeyer, ed. (8th rev. ed., 1962) Harcourt, Brace and Company.)

The heads of strong old age are beautiful
Beyond all grace of youth.

(Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), U.S. poet. Promise of Peace (l. 1-2). . . Modern American Poetry. Louis Untermeyer, ed. (8th rev. ed., 1962) Harcourt, Brace and Company.)

come peace or war, the progress of America and Europe
Becomes a long process of deterioration?

(Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), U.S. poet. Prescription of Painful Ends (l. 7-8). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.)

The future is ever a misted landscape, no man foreknows it, but at
cyclical turns
There is a change felt in the rhythm of events:

(Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), U.S. poet. Prescription of Painful Ends (l. 3-4). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.)

It would be better for men
To be few and live far apart, where none could infect another; then
slowly the sanity of field and mountain
And the cold ocean and glittering stars might enter their minds.

(Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), U.S. poet. May?June, 1940 (l. 5-7). . . Modern American Poetry. Louis Untermeyer, ed. (8th rev. ed., 1962) Harcourt, Brace and Company.)

This wild swan of a world is no hunter's game.

(Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), U.S. poet. Love the Wild Swan (l. 9). . . Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry, The. Richard Ellmann and Robert O'Clair, eds. (2d ed., 1988) W. W. Norton & Company.)

If civilization goes down, that
Would be an event to contemplate.
It will not be in our time, alas, my dear,
It will not be in our time.

(Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), U.S. poet. May?June, 1940 (l. 22-25). . . Modern American Poetry. Louis Untermeyer, ed. (8th rev. ed., 1962) Harcourt, Brace and Company.)

Love your eyes that can see, your mind that can
Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.

(Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), U.S. poet. Love the Wild Swan (l. 13-14). . . Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry, The. Richard Ellmann and Robert O'Clair, eds. (2d ed., 1988) W. W. Norton & Company.)

I gave him the lead gift in the twilight. What fell was relaxed,
Owl-downy, soft feminine feathers; but what
Soared: the fierce rush: the night-herons by the flooded river cried
fear at its rising
Before it was quite unsheathed from reality.

(Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), U.S. poet. Hurt Hawks (l. 24-27). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.)

The broken pillar of the wing jags from the clotted shoulder,
The wing trails like a banner in defeat,

(Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), U.S. poet. Hurt Hawks (l. 1-2). . . Oxford Book of American Verse, The. F. O. Matthiessen, ed. (1950) Oxford University Press.)