Anne Sexton

(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974 / Newton, Massachusetts)

Anne Sexton Poems

161. The Red Dance 3/29/2010
162. The Road Back 3/29/2010
163. The Room Of My Life 3/29/2010
164. The Stand-Ins 3/29/2010
165. The Starry Night 3/29/2010
166. The Touch 3/29/2010
167. The Truth The Dead Know 6/27/2006
168. The Twelve Dancing Princesses 3/29/2010
169. The Waiting Head 3/29/2010
170. The Wedding Ring Dance 3/29/2010
171. The Wifebeater 3/29/2010
172. The Witch's Life 3/29/2010
173. To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Triumph 3/29/2010
174. Torn Down From Glory Daily 3/29/2010
175. Unknown Girl In A Maternity Ward 3/29/2010
176. Us 3/29/2010
177. Wallflower 3/29/2010
178. Wanting To Die 3/29/2010
179. What's That 3/29/2010
180. When Man Enters Woman 3/29/2010
181. Where I Live In This Honorable House Of The Laurel Tree 3/29/2010
182. Where It Was At Back Then 3/29/2010
183. With Mercy For The Greedy 3/29/2010
184. Woman With Girdle 3/29/2010
185. Words 3/29/2010
186. You, Doctor Martin 3/29/2010
187. Young 3/29/2010
Best Poem of Anne Sexton

45 Mercy Street

In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
Not there.

I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the ...

Read the full of 45 Mercy Street

Her Kind

have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,

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