The Night Dances (Sylvia Plath Poems)
A smile fell in the grass. Irretrievable! And how will your night dances Lose themselves. In mathematics? Such pure leaps ...
A smile fell in the grass. Irretrievable! And how will your night dances Lose themselves. In mathematics? Such pure leaps ...
The day you died I went into the dirt, Into the lightless hibernaculum Where bees, striped black and gold, sleep ...
As the gods began one world, and man another, So the snakecharmer begins a snaky sphere With moon-eye, mouth-pipe, He ...
In the rectory garden on his evening walk Paced brisk Father Shawn. A cold day, a sodden one it was ...
It is no night to drown in: A full moon, river lapsing Black beneath bland mirror-sheen, The blue water-mists dropping ...
Love, the world Suddenly turns, turns color. The streetlight Splits through the rat's tail Pods of the laburnum at nine ...
There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself -- Infinite, green, utterly untouchable. Angels swim in it, ...
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I ...
Bare-handed, I hand the combs. The man in white smiles, bare-handed, Our cheesecloth gauntlets neat and sweet, The throats of ...
What is this, behind this veil, is it ugly, is it beautiful? It is shimmering, has it breasts, has it ...
The engine is killing the track, the track is silver, It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless. ...
Here are two pupils whose moons of black transform to cripples all who look: each lovely lady who peers inside ...
The Triumph of Wit Over Suffering Head alone shows you in the prodigious act Of digesting what centuries alone digest: ...
Since Christmas they have lived with us, Guileless and clear, Oval soul-animals, Taking up half the space, Moving and rubbing ...
(1) This is the sea, then, this great abeyance. How the sun's poultice draws on my inflammation. Electrifyingly-colored sherbets, scooped ...
The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat. The fat Sacrifices its opacity. . . . A window, holy gold. The ...
Day of mist: day of tarnish with hands unserviceable, I wait for the milk van the one-eared cat laps its ...
Pure? What does it mean? The tongues of hell Are dull, dull as the triple Tongues of dull, fat Cerebus ...
A Poem for Three Voices Setting: A Maternity Ward and round about FIRST VOICE: I am slow as the world. ...
They are always with us, the thin people Meager of dimension as the gray people On a movie-screen. They Are ...
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating. Both of ...
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