Sylvia Plath (Сильвия Плат)

Recantation

'Tea leaves I've given up,
And that crooked line
On the queen's palm
Is no more my concern.
On my black pilgrimage
This moon-pocked crystal ball
Will break before it help;
Rather than croak out
What's to come,
My darling ravens are flown.

'Forswear those freezing tricks of sight
And all else I've taught
Against the flower in the blood:
Not wealth nor wisdom stands
Above the simple vein,
The straight mouth.
Go to your greenhorn youth
Before time ends
And do good
With your white hands."

1. Wintering
2. Pheasant
3. Heavy Woman
4. Black Rook in Rainy Weather
5. Goatsucker

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1642

Последние стихотворения

To English version