To a Jilted LoverViewed 367 times
by Sylvia Plath
Cold on my narrow cot I lie
and in sorrow look
through my window-square of black:
figured in the midnight sky,
a mosaic of stars
diagrams the falling years,
while from the moon, my lover's eye
chills me to death
with radiance of his frozen faith.
Once I wounded him with so
small a thorn
I never thought his flesh would burn
or that the heat within would grow
until he stood
incandescent as a god;
now there is nowhere I can go
to hide from him:
moon and sun reflect his flame.
In the morning all shall be
the same again:
stars pale before the angry dawn;
the gilded cock will turn for me
the rack of time
until the peak of noon has come
and by that glare, my love will see
how I am still
blazing in my golden hell.
deep in liquid
of dilute light
Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.
Since Christmas they have lived with us,
Guileless and clear,
Empty, I echo to the least footfall,
Museum without statues, grand with pillars, portico …
In my courtyard a fountain leaps and sinks back int
This is the sea, then, this great abeyance.
How the sun's poultice draws on my inflammation.
All morning in the strawberry field
They talked about the Russians.
Squatted down between the rows
Tell me what you see in it :
The pine tree like a Rorschach-blot
black against the orange light :
On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackb …
Blackberries on either side, though on the right ma …
A blackberry alley, going do...
They're out of the dark's ragbag, these two
Moles dead in the pebbled rut,
Shapeless as flung gloves, a few feet apart ---
I am sending back the key
that let me into bluebeard's study;
because he would make love to me
Will they occur,
These people with torso of steel
Winged elbows and eyeholes