“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.”
"Edge" http://www.angelfire.com/tn/plath/edge.html
Ariel (1965)
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Sylvia Plath 342
American poet, novelist and short story writer 1932–1963Related quotes

Go, Lovely Rose (1664), st. 1.
Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham (1857)

“Her body was wrapped in shadows like moth wings, like rose-petals.”
Source: Bag of Bones

<p>L’homme qui, dès le commencement, a été longtemps baigné dans la molle atmosphère de la femme, dans l’odeur de ses mains, de son sein, de ses genoux, de sa chevelure, de ses vêtements souples et flottants,</p><p>Dulce balneum suavibus
Unguentatum odoribus,</p><p>y a contracté une délicatesse d’épiderme et une distinction d’accent, une espèce d’androgynéité, sans lesquelles le génie le plus âpre et le plus viril reste, relativement à la perfection dans l’art, un être incomplet.</p>
"Un mangeur d'opium," VII: Chagrins d'enfance http://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Les_Paradis_artificiels_-_II#VII_CHAGRINS_D.E2.80.99ENFANCE
Les paradis artificiels (1860)