The bird with the dark plumes in my blood,
That never for one moment however I patched my truces
Consented to make peace with the people,
It is pitiful now to watch her pleasure In a breath of
tempest
Breaking the sad promise of spring.
Are these that morose hawk’s wings, vaulting, a mere
mad swallow’s,
The snow-shed peak, the violent precipice?
Poor outlaw that would not value their praise do you
prize their blame?
“Their liking” she said “was a long creance,
But let them be kind enough to hate me that opens the
sky.”
It is almost as foolish my poor falcon
To want hatred as to want love; and harder to win.

Analysis, meaning and summary of Robinson Jeffers's poem The Bird With The Dark Plumes

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

Do you have any comments, criticism, paraphrasis or analysis of this poem that you feel would assist other visitors in understanding the meaning or the theme of this poem by Robinson Jeffers better? If accepted, your analysis will be added to this page of American Poems. Together we can build a wealth of information, but it will take some discipline and determination.