Poems by Sylvia Plath
Letter To A Purist
... In preposterous provinces of the madcap ...
Years
... The blood berries are themselves, they are very still ...
Dream With Clam-Diggers
... Now with stake and pitchfork they advance, flint eyes fixed on murder ...
On Looking Into The Eyes Of A Demon Lover
... of a toad. Within these mirrors ...
I Am Vertical
... The the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me ...
Edge
... Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment, ...
Suicide Off Egg Rock
... Children Were squealing where combers broke and the spindrift ...
Elm
... Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse ...
The Hanging Man
... The nights snapped out of sight like a lizard's eyelid : ...
The Detective
... Where the wireless talks to itself like an elderly relative ...
Among The Narcissi
... The narcissi look up like children, quickly and whitely ...
Three Women
... With their hearts that tick and tick, with their satchels of instruments ...
Conversation Among The Ruins
... Like a daunted witch, quitting castle when real days break ...
Waking In Winter
... Or the sea, Hushing their peeled sense like Old Mother Morphia ...
The Ghost's Leavetaking
... Which seemed, when dreamed, to mean so profoundly much, ...
