Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=509029" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Meditation On Saviors</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I<br>When I considered it too closely, when I wore it like an element<br> and smelt it like water,<br>Life is become less lovely, the net nearer than the skin, a<br> little troublesome, a little terrible.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I pledged myself awhile ago not to seek refuge, neither in death<br> nor in a walled garden,<br>In lies nor gated loyalties, nor in the gates of contempt, that<br> easily lock the world out of doors.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here on the rock it is great and beautiful, here on the foam-wet<br> granite sea-fang it is easy to praise<br>Life and water and the shining stones: but whose cattle are the<br> herds of the people that one should love them?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If they were yours, then you might take a cattle-breeder's<br> delight in the herds of the future. Not yours.<br>Where the power ends let love, before it sours to jealousy.<br> Leave the joys of government to Caesar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who is born when the world wanes, when the brave soul of the<br> world falls on decay in the flesh increasing<br>Comes one with a great level mind, sufficient vision, sufficient<br> blindness, and clemency for love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the breath of rottenness I smelt; from the world<br> waiting, stalled between storms, decaying a little,<br>Bitterly afraid to be hurt, but knowing it cannot draw the<br> savior Caesar but out of the blood-bath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The apes of Christ lift up their hands to praise love: but<br> wisdom without love is the present savior,<br>Power without hatred, mind like a many-bladed machine subduing<br> the world with deep indifference.<br> <br>The apes of Christ itch for a sickness they have never known;<br> words and the little envies will hardly<br>Measure against that blinding fire behind the tragic eyes they<br> have never dared to confront.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II<br>Point Lobos lies over the hollowed water like a humped whale<br> swimming to shoal; Point Lobos<br>Was wounded with that fire; the hills at Point Sur endured it;<br> the palace at Thebes; the hill Calvary.<br> <br>Out of incestuous love power and then ruin. A man forcing the<br> imaginations of men,<br>Possessing with love and power the people: a man defiling his<br> own household with impious desire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">King Oedipus reeling blinded from the palace doorway, red tears<br> pouring from the torn pits<br>Under the forehead; and the young Jew writhing on the domed hill<br> in the earthquake, against the eclipse</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Frightfully uplifted for having turned inward to love the<br> people: -that root was so sweet O dreadful agonist? -<br>I saw the same pierced feet, that walked in the same crime to<br> its expiation; I heard the same cry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A bad mountain to build your world on. Am I another keeper of<br> the people, that on my own shore,<br>On the gray rock, by the grooved mass of the ocean, the<br> sicknesses I left behind me concern me?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here where the surf has come incredible ways out of the splendid<br> west, over the deeps<br>Light nor life sounds forever; here where enormous sundowns<br> flower and burn through color to quietness;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the ecstasy of the stars is present? As for the people, I<br> have found my rock, let them find theirs.<br>Let them lie down at Caesar's feet and be saved; and he in his<br> time reap their daggers of gratitude.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III<br>Yet I am the one made pledges against the refuge contempt, that<br> easily locks the world out of doors.<br>This people as much as the sea-granite is part of the God from<br> whom I desire not to be fugitive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see them: they are always crying. The shored Pacific makes<br> perpetual music, and the stone mountains<br>Their music of silence, the stars blow long pipings of light:<br> the people are always crying in their hearts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One need not pity; certainly one must not love. But who has seen<br> peace, if he should tell them where peace<br>Lives in the world...they would be powerless to understand; and<br> he is not willing to be reinvolved.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV<br>How should one caught in the stone of his own person dare tell<br> the people anything but relative to that?<br>But if a man could hold in his mind all the conditions at once,<br> of man and woman, of civilized</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And barbarous, of sick and well, of happy and under torture, of<br> living and dead, of human and not<br>Human, and dimly all the human future: -what should persuade him<br> to speak? And what could his words change?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The mountain ahead of the world is not forming but fixed. But<br> the man's words would be fixed also,<br>Part of that mountain, under equal compulsion; under the same<br> present compulsion in the iron consistency.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And nobody sees good or evil but out of a brain a hundred<br> centuries quieted, some desert<br>Prophet's, a man humped like a camel, gone mad between the mud-<br> walled village and the mountain sepulchres.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V<br>Broad wagons before sunrise bring food into the city from the<br> open farms, and the people are fed.<br>They import and they consume reality. Before sunrise a hawk in<br> the desert made them their thoughts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI<br>Here is an anxious people, rank with suppressed<br> bloodthirstiness. Among the mild and unwarlike<br>Gautama needed but live greatly and be heard, Confucius needed<br> but live greatly and be heard:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This people has not outgrown blood-sacrifice, one must writhe on<br> the high cross to catch at their memories;<br>The price is known. I have quieted love; for love of the people<br> I would not do it. For power I would do it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">--But that stands against reason: what is power to a dead man,<br> dead under torture? --What is power to a man<br>Living, after the flesh is content? Reason is never a root,<br> neither of act nor desire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For power living I would never do it; they'are not delightful to<br> touch, one wants to be separate. For power<br>After the nerves are put away underground, to lighten the<br> abstract unborn children toward peace...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A man might have paid anguish indeed. Except he had found the<br> standing sea-rock that even this last<br>Temptation breaks on; quieter than death but lovelier; peace<br> that quiets the desire even of praising it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII<br>Yet look: are they not pitiable? No: if they lived forever they<br> would be pitiable:<br>But a huge gift reserved quite overwhelms them at the end; they<br> are able then to be still and not cry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And having touched a little of the beauty and seen a little of<br> the beauty of things, magically grow<br>Across the funeral fire or the hidden stench of burial<br> themselves into the beauty they admired,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Themselves into the God, themselves into the sacred steep<br> unconsciousness they used to mimic<br>Asleep between lamp's death and dawn, while the last drunkard<br> stumbled homeward down the dark street.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They are not to be pitied but very fortunate; they need no<br> savior, salvation comes and takes them by force,<br>It gathers them into the great kingdoms of dust and stone, the<br> blown storms, the stream's-end ocean.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With this advantage over their granite grave-marks, of having<br> realized the petulant human consciousness<br>Before, and then the greatness, the peace: drunk from both<br> pitchers: these to be pitied? These not fortunate</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But while he lives let each man make his health in his mind, to<br> love the coast opposite humanity<br>And so be freed of love, laying it like bread on the waters; it<br> is worst turned inward, it is best shot farthest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Love, the mad wine of good and evil, the saint's and murderer's,<br> the mote in the eye that makes its object<br>Shine the sun black; the trap in which it is better to catch the<br> inhuman God than the hunter's own image.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Anonymous submission.</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>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=509029" data-title="Meditation On Saviors de Robinson Jeffers" data-description="I
When I considered it too closely, when I wore it like an element
 and smelt it like water,
Life is become less lovely, the net nearer than the skin, a
 little troublesome, a little terrible.

I pledged myself awhile ago not to seek refuge, neith..."></div>
</div>
</div>