Anne Sexton

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

Anne Sexton Poems

121. Us 3/29/2010
122. For The Year Of The Insane 3/29/2010
123. Love Letter Written In A Burning Building 3/29/2010
124. Hurry Up Please It's Time 3/29/2010
125. Ghosts 3/29/2010
126. In Celebration Of My Uterus 3/29/2010
127. For John, Who Begs Me Not To Enquire Further 3/29/2010
128. Flee On Your Donkey 3/29/2010
129. Lessons In Hunger 3/29/2010
130. Suicide Note 3/29/2010
131. The Starry Night 3/29/2010
132. Wanting To Die 3/29/2010
133. Just Once 3/29/2010
134. Rumpelstiltskin 3/29/2010
135. The Consecrating Mother 3/29/2010
136. Noon Walk On The Asylum Lawn 3/29/2010
137. Unknown Girl In A Maternity Ward 3/29/2010
138. Sylvia's Death 3/29/2010
139. Crossing The Atlantic 7/11/2006
140. Doctors 3/29/2010
141. Rapunzel 3/29/2010
142. Live 3/29/2010
143. For My Lover, Returning To His Wife 3/29/2010
144. Words 3/29/2010
145. Cripples And Other Stories 7/11/2006
146. The Addict 3/29/2010
147. Young 3/29/2010
148. The Abortion 3/29/2010
149. Going Gone 3/29/2010
150. Killing The Love 3/29/2010
151. The Dead Heart 3/29/2010
152. Cockroach 7/11/2006
153. 'Daddy' Warbucks 6/27/2006
154. Elegy In The Classroom 3/29/2010
155. Despair 7/11/2006
156. Clothes 7/11/2006
157. The Black Art 6/27/2006
158. August 17th 6/27/2006
159. As It Was Written 6/27/2006
160. Demon 7/11/2006
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 -
namely MERCY STREET.
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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