Lady Lazarus (Sylvia Plath Poems)
I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it---- A sort of walking miracle, my skin ...
I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it---- A sort of walking miracle, my skin ...
These poems do not live: it's a sad diagnosis. They grew their toes and fingers well enough, Their little foreheads ...
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating. Both of ...
The air is a mill of hooks -- Questions without answer, Glittering and drunk as flies Whose kiss stings unbearably ...
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