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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508979" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Little Scraping</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">True, the time, to one who does not love farce,<br>And if misery must be prefers it nobler, shows apparent vices;<br>At least it provides the cure for ambition.<br>One does not crave power in ant-hills, nor praise in a paper forest;<br>One must not even indulge the severe<br>Romance of separateness, as of Milton grown blind and old<br>In his broken temple against the drunkards:<br>The ants are good creatures, there is nothing to be heroic about.<br>But the time is not a strong prison either.<br>A little scraping the walls of dishonest contractor's concrete<br>Through a shower of chips and sand makes freedom.<br>Shake the dust from your hair. This mountain sea-coast is real,<br>For it reaches out far into past and future;<br>It is part of the great and timeless excellence of things. A few<br>Lean cows drift high up the bronze hill;<br>The heavy-necked plow-team furrows the foreland, gulls tread the furrow;<br>Time ebbs and flows but the rock remains.<br>Two riders of tired horses canter on the cloudy ridge;<br>Topaz-eyed hawks have the white air;<br>Or a woman with jade-pale eyes, hiding a knife in her hand,<br>Goes through cold rain over gray grass.<br>God is here, too, secretly smiling, the beautiful power<br>That piles up cities for the poem of their fall<br>And gathers multitude like game to be hunted when the season comes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robinson+Jeffers">Robinson Jeffers</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508979" data-title="A Little Scraping de Robinson Jeffers" data-description="True, the time, to one who does not love farce,
And if misery must be prefers it nobler, shows apparent vices;
At least it provides the cure for ambition.
One does not crave power in ant-hills, nor praise in a paper forest;
One must not even indul..."></div>
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