Sylvia Plath

(October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963 / Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts)

Sylvia Plath Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
81. Face Lift 9/19/2014
82. Medallion 9/17/2014
83. Dark Wood, Dark Water 9/17/2014
84. The Hanging Man 9/17/2014
85. A Sorcerer Bids Farewell To Seem 9/17/2014
86. I Want, I Want 9/17/2014
87. Magnolia Shoals 9/19/2014
88. Notes To A Neophyte 9/19/2014
89. Event 9/17/2014
90. New Year On Dartmoor 9/19/2014
91. Words Heard, By Accident, Over The Phone 9/17/2014
92. Moonrise 9/19/2014
93. Little Fugue 9/19/2014
94. Doom Of Exiles 9/17/2014
95. For A Fatherless Son 9/17/2014
96. Dirge For A Joker 9/17/2014
97. Ouija 9/19/2014
98. Firesong 9/17/2014
99. Waking In Winter 9/19/2014
100. The Death Of Myth-Making 9/19/2014
101. Touch-And-Go 9/17/2014
102. Miss Drake Proceeds To Supper 9/19/2014
103. Heavy Woman 9/19/2014
104. Stopped Dead 9/19/2014
105. Widow 9/19/2014
106. Dark House 9/17/2014
107. The Trial Of A Man 9/19/2014
108. Amnesiac 9/19/2014
109. Witch Burning 9/19/2014
110. Song For A Summer's Day 9/19/2014
111. The Ghost's Leavetaking 9/19/2014
112. A Winter Ship 9/17/2014
113. Childless Woman 9/17/2014
114. Burning The Letters 9/17/2014
115. Lament 9/17/2014
116. Female Author 9/17/2014
117. Gulliver 9/17/2014
118. Crystal Gazer 9/19/2014
119. Departure 9/19/2014
120. Family Reunion 9/19/2014
Best Poem of Sylvia Plath

Cinderella

The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span

The whole revolving tall glass palace hall
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,

And glided couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since,
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince

As amid the hectic music and cocktail ...

Read the full of Cinderella

Jilted

My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

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