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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=509019" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hurt Hawks</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The broken pillar of the wing jags from the clotted shoulder,<br>The wing trails like a banner in defeat, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more to use the sky forever but live with famine<br>And pain a few days: cat nor coyote<br>Will shorten the week of waiting for death, there is game without talons.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He stands under the oak-bush and waits <br>The lame feet of salvation; at night he remembers freedom<br>And flies in a dream, the dawns ruin it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.<br>The curs of the day come and torment him<br>At distance, no one but death the redeemer will humble that head, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The intrepid readiness, the terrible eyes. <br>The wild God of the world is sometimes merciful to those<br>That ask mercy, not often to the arrogant. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You do not know him, you communal people, or you have forgotten him; <br>Intemperate and savage, the hawk remembers him;<br>Beautiful and wild, the hawks, and men that are dying, remember him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">  II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd sooner, except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk; <br>but the great redtail<br>Had nothing left but unable misery<br>From the bone too shattered for mending, the wing that trailed under his talons when he moved. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We had fed him six weeks, I gave him freedom,<br>He wandered over the foreland hill and returned in the evening, asking for death,<br>Not like a beggar, still eyed with the old<br>Implacable arrogance. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I gave him the lead gift in the twilight.<br>What fell was relaxed, Owl-downy, soft feminine feathers; but what<br>Soared: the fierce rush: the night-herons by the flooded river cried fear at its rising<br>Before it was quite unsheathed from reality.</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=509019" data-title="Hurt Hawks de Robinson Jeffers" data-description="I

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

No more to use the sky forever but live with famine
And pain a few days: cat nor coyote
Will shorten the week of waiting for death, there i..."></div>
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