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Sylvia Plath

The swans are gone. Still the river Remembers how white they were. It strives after them with its lights. It finds their shapes in a cloud. What is that bird that cries With such sorrow in its voice? I am young as ever, it says. What is it I miss? — Sylvia Plath, from “Three… Continue reading Sylvia Plath

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Sylvia Plath

So I kiss him, and there is the great dark sea ahead, and above the sheaves of yellow stars, shoals of cold bright pieces of light and the great wind….. and I, strange and elated with a new wonder, child-like in my sudden power, look with eyes large in love and amazement at this intent… Continue reading Sylvia Plath

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Confessional · Excerpt · Fragment · Modernism · Poetry

Sylvia Plath

There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself- Infinite, green, utterly untouchable. Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also. They are my medium. — Sylvia Plath, from “Apprehensions,” The Bell Jar. (Harper Perennial Modern Classics June 11, 2013) Originally published January 14th 1963.

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Confessional · Modernism · Poetry

Sylvia Plath

Better that every fiber crack and fury make head, blood drenching vivid couch, carpet, floor and the snake-figured almanac vouching you are a million green counties from here, than to sit mute, twitching so under prickling stars, with stare, with curse blackening the time goodbyes were said, trains let go, and I, great magnanimous fool,… Continue reading Sylvia Plath

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