Poem by Sylvia Plath

Child

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.

1. In Plaster
2. Black Pine Tree in an Orange Light
3. The Snowman on the Moor
4. Prologue to Spring
5. Pheasant

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