Poem by Sylvia Plath

Sheep in Fog

The hills step off into whiteness.
People or stars
Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.

The train leaves a line of breath.
O slow
Horse the colour of rust,

Hooves, dolorous bells -
All morning the
Morning has been blackening,

A flower left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far
Fields melt my heart.

They threaten
To let me through to a heaven
Starless and fatherless, a dark water.

1. Brasilia
2. The Other
3. Above the Oxbow
4. Two Campers in Cloud Country
5. Goatsucker

Print

1841 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version