The agreeable eye

an eudæmonistarchives


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 hunger to haul the white reflection down.

The austere sun descends above the fen,
    an orange cyclops-eye, scorning to look
longer on this landscape of chagrin;
    feather dark in thought, I stalk like a rook,
brooding as the winter night comes on.

—Sylvia Plath,
‘Winter Landscape, with Rooks’


ego hoc feci mm–MMXXIV · cc 2000–2024 M.F.C.