Robinson Jeffers. (№ 355081)

Bezumca with sharp eyes long white fingers
Clung to the stones of the wall
Hair in the wind, in the mouth Creek. But tell me, Cassandra,
It is important that someone believed
Your bitter speeches? Truly men hate the truth,
they are nicer
On the way home to meet tiger.
That is why the poets podslushat the truth lies; but the merchants
Religion and politics piling new lies on the old,
and glorify them for the kind Wisdom. You fool, think.
No: you chew in the corner of your little truths, and people
And the gods are revolted. - We're with you, Cassandra.