I chose the bed downstairs by the sea-window for a good death-bed
When we built the house, it is ready waiting,
Unused unless by some guest in a twelvemonth, who hardly suspects
Its latter purpose. I often regard it,
With neither dislike nor desire; rather with both, so equalled
That they kill each other and a crystalline interest
Remains alone. We are safe to finish what we have to finish;
And then it will sound rather like music
When the patient daemon behind the screen of sea-rock and sky
Thumps with his staff, and calls thrice: “Come, Jeffers.”
This poem is included in the following anthologies:
Robinson Jeffers: Selected Poems, Vintage Books, 1965.
The Selected Poetry of Robinson Jeffers, Stanford, 2001; ed. Tim Hunt.
The Wild God of the World: An Anthology of Robinson Jeffers, 2003; ed. Albert Gelpi.