Ariel (Sylvia Plath Poems)
Stasis in darkness. Then the substanceless blue Pour of tor and distances. God's lioness, How one we grow, Pivot of ...
Stasis in darkness. Then the substanceless blue Pour of tor and distances. God's lioness, How one we grow, Pivot of ...
Somebody is shooting at something in our town -- A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street. Jealousy can open ...
I shall never get you put together entirely, Pieced, glued, and properly jointed. Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles Proceed from ...
Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, then I was dead, Though, like a stone, ...
In the dour ages Of drafty cells and draftier castles, Of dragons breathing without the frame of fables, Saint and ...
How far is it? How far is it now? The gigantic gorilla interior Of the wheels move, they appall me ...
The night is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, ...
Pure? What does it mean? The tongues of hell Are dull, dull as the triple Tongues of dull, fat Cerebus ...
I ordered this, clean wood box Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift. I would say it ...
God knows how our neighbor managed to breed His great sow: Whatever his shrewd secret, he kept it hid In ...
I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus With tigery stripes, and a face on it Round ...
They enter as animals from the outer Space of holly where spikes Are not thoughts I turn on, like a ...
Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts. Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through ...
You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot ...
As the gods began one world, and man another, So the snakecharmer begins a snaky sphere With moon-eye, mouth-pipe, He ...
I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it---- A sort of walking miracle, my skin ...
In the rectory garden on his evening walk Paced brisk Father Shawn. A cold day, a sodden one it was ...
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted ...
The air is a mill of hooks -- Questions without answer, Glittering and drunk as flies Whose kiss stings unbearably ...
What is this, behind this veil, is it ugly, is it beautiful? It is shimmering, has it breasts, has it ...
The Triumph of Wit Over Suffering Head alone shows you in the prodigious act Of digesting what centuries alone digest: ...
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