Robinson Jeffers — Cassandra

The mad girl with the staring eyes and long white fingers

Hooked in the stones of the wall,

The storm-wrack hair and the screeching mouth: does it matter,

     Cassandra,

Whether the people believe

Your bitter fountain? Truly men hate the truth; they'd liefer

Meet a tiger on the road.

Therefore the poets honey their truth with lying; but religion-

Venders and political men

Pour from the barrel, new lies on the old, and are praised for

    kindly Wisdom. Poor bitch, be wise.

No: you'll still mumble in a corner a crust of truth, to men

And gods disgusting.-You and I, Cassandra.