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Sylvia Plath - Edge

The woman is perfected
Her dead

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare

Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little

Pitcher of milk, now empty
She has folded

Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden

Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.

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Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 46525 times | Comments and analysis of Edge by Sylvia Plath Comments (21)

Edge - Comments and Information

Poet: Sylvia Plath
Poem: Edge
Volume: The Collected Poems
Year: Published/Written in 1963

Comment 21 of 21, added on January 18th, 2013 at 5:53 AM.
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me atavtctire than the atavtctire prices the eye thus be fake also to have chance Have dream you do not want Maidaojiahuo right Then take look at these big bags true false recognition stunts even if you no shopping program you can become friends gathering inflidation about In recent years many the woledloveop luxury springing up in China generally have love ed but the c responding service high prices are hard to match Rep ter visited the survey found that international are not service line only Gucci Louis Vuitton at the ficial site to make brief description the maintenance In addition the woleds Louis Vuitton replica bagloveop br in mainl China manufacturers are not set up dedicated maintenance center Depot Repair time in

Amarjargal from Switzerland
Comment 20 of 21, added on May 9th, 2011 at 9:24 PM.
Good info

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Pharmg617902 from United States
Comment 19 of 21, added on June 26th, 2010 at 7:05 AM.
Edge

What is death other than the gateway to eternity? Sylvia explained it so well. Edge can be a metaphor for gateway.

Emile Moelich from South Africa

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