Child
- Sylvia Plath
Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little
Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical
Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.
Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little
Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical
Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.
posted by crystal | 12:37 AM
6 Comments:
Its a beutiful day today.
Nary a troublous cloud. Plenty of stars :-)
It's nice here too. :) I saw that poem in a post somewhere about Sylvia Plath's son having committed suicide. Sad.
I thought you might post on her son's suicide. What a mixed-up, tragic, sad family.
She was a great poet, though. Hughes you can have.
Hi William. Yeah, I didn't know much about her life aside from her suicide until I read about her son.
Just came back from a Nor Cal native plant sale with my daughter and found a snowdrop!, two bucks. I shall name it Sylvia.
It's flower planting time. I'm going to try some snapdragons :)
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