Winter Landscape, with Rooks
Water in the millrace, through a sluice of stone,Plunges headlong into that black pond
Where, absurd and out-of-season, a single swan
Floats chaste as snow, taunting the clouded mind
Which hungers to haul the white reflection down.
The austere sun decends above the fen,
An orange cyclops-eye, scorning to look
Longer on this landscape of chagrin ;
Feathered dark in thought, I stalk like a rook,
Brooding as the winter night comes on.
Last summers' reeds are all engraved in ice
As is your image in my eye ; dry frost
Glazes the window of my hurt ; what solace
Can be struck from rock to make hearts waste
Grow green again ? Who'd walk in this bleak place ?
- Silvia Plath
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