With white frost gone
And all green dreams not worth much,
After a lean day’s work
Time comes round for that foul slut:
Mere bruit of her takes our street
Until every man,
Red, pale or dark,
Veers to her slouch.
Mark, I cry, that mouth
Made to do violence on,
That seamed face
Askew with blotch, dint, scar
Struck by each dour year.
Walks there not some such one man
As can spare breath
To patch with brand of love this rank grimace
Which out from black tarn, ditch and cup
Into my most chaste own eyes
Looks up.
(Sylvia Plath)
More Poetry from Sylvia Plath:
Sylvia Plath Poems based on Topics: Man, Love, Cry- Tulips (Sylvia Plath Poems)
- Monologue At 3 AM (Sylvia Plath Poems)
- Blackberrying (Sylvia Plath Poems)
- Medusa (Sylvia Plath Poems)
- An Appearance (Sylvia Plath Poems)
- Pheasant (Sylvia Plath Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, Cry PoemsBased on Keywords: tarn, slut, seamed, askew, bruit, dour, grimace, veers, slouch, dint, blotch
- M'Fingal - Canto III (John Trumbull Poems)
- The Mountain Of The Lovers (Paul Hamilton Hayne Poems)
- The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part I. (John Henry Dryden Poems)
- The Tragedy of White Injustice (Marcus Mosiah Garvey Poems)
- The Minstrel; Or, The Progress Of Genius : Book I. (James Beattie Poems)