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=509083" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Deer Lay Down Their Bones</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I followed the narrow cliffside trail half way up the mountain<br>Above the deep river-canyon. There was a little cataract crossed the path, <br> flinging itself<br>Over tree roots and rocks, shaking the jeweled fern-fronds, bright bubbling <br> water<br>Pure from the mountain, but a bad smell came up. Wondering at it I clam-<br> bered down the steep stream<br>Some forty feet, and found in the midst of bush-oak and laurel,<br>Hung like a bird's nest on the precipice brink a small hidden clearing,<br>Grass and a shallow pool. But all about there were bones Iying in the grass, <br> clean bones and stinking bones,<br>Antlers and bones: I understood that the place was a refuge for wounded <br> deer; there are so many<br>Hurt ones escape the hunters and limp away to lie hidden; here they have <br> water for the awful thirst<br>And peace to die in; dense green laurel and grim cliff<br> <br>Make sanctuary, and a sweet wind blows upward from the deep gorge.--I <br> wish my bones were with theirs.<br>But that's a foolish thing to confess, and a little cowardly. We know that life<br>Is on the whole quite equally good and bad, mostly gray neutral, and can <br> be endured<br>To the dim end, no matter what magic of grass, water and precipice, and <br> pain of wounds,<br>Makes death look dear. We have been given life and have used it--not a <br> great gift perhaps--but in honesty<br>Should use it all. Mine's empty since my love died--Empty? The flame-<br> haired grandchild with great blue eyes<br>That look like hers?--What can I do for the child? I gaze at her and wonder <br> what sort of man<br>In the fall of the world . . . I am growing old, that is the trouble. My chil-<br> dren and little grandchildren<br>Will find their way, and why should I wait ten years yet, having lived sixty-<br> seven, ten years more or less,<br>Before I crawl out on a ledge of rock and die snapping, like a wolf<br>Who has lost his mate?--I am bound by my own thirty-year-old decision:<br> who drinks the wine<br>Should take the dregs; even in the bitter lees and sediment<br>New discovery may lie. The deer in that beautiful place lay down their<br> bones: I must wear mine.</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=509083" data-title="The Deer Lay Down Their Bones de Robinson Jeffers" data-description="I followed the narrow cliffside trail half way up the mountain
Above the deep river-canyon. There was a little cataract crossed the path, 
 flinging itself
Over tree roots and rocks, shaking the jeweled fern-fronds, bright bubbling 
 water
Pure fr..."></div>
</div>
</div>