O you fables spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known, mounting to heaven!
…And your port immovable where you stand, With still the inextinguishable glance and the clinch’d and lifted fist, And your foot on the neck of the menacing one, the scorner utterly crush’d beneath you, The menacing arrogant one that strode and advanced with his senseless scorn, bearing the murderous knife, The wide-swelling one, the braggart that would yesterday do so much, To-day a carrion dead and damn’d, the despised of all the earth, An offal rank, to the dunghill maggots spurn’d.
Raise main-sail and jib—steer forth, O little white-hull’d sloop, now speed on really deep waters, (I will not call it our concluding voyage, But outset and sure entrance to the truest, best, maturest;) Depart, depart from solid earth—no more returning to these shores, Now on for aye our infinite free venture wending, Spurning all yet tried ports, seas, hawsers, densities, gravitation, Sail out for good, eidolon yacht of me!
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Her father—spurned and rejected and lovelorn?
Margaret Peterson Haddix -- Uprising
I wanted to spurn the Herondale name because I thought I hated my father, but I don’t hate him.