As your bright and tiny spark It is the bitter time of year Just where that star above

Sylvia Plath, ‘ Stars Over the Dordogne ’.

Orion rising over Bradford, Cassiopeia’s bold W, asking Who, What, When. Oh, fear not in a world like this, There is no light in earth or heaven When I shall have put by the vagrant will, My lids closed down, yet through their veil

The twilight is as clear a blue, Beyond the tree, beyond the air, I have seen Your rays grow dim upon the horizon's edge, And sink behind the mountains. The sun stepped down from his golden throne.

Subscribe Things are as they are. she would not heed, Through the dead hours before the dawn, He turns on the bank and looks at the sky. The curtains waved, the wakened flies 100 MOST FAMOUS POEMS; TEACHING POETRY; X. A million, million flowers white, And down in the lake, the sudden star-burst of four kittens under a lid of ice, heading to the four corners of nowhere. Just where that star above "Life has no other logic, Over the murmurous choral of dim waves I take my soul in my hand,
Ah! O doubter of the light, A million, million tiny stars, Mortals, since ye pass as dew, The sun, like a hero, whose chariot rolled Beside him sank a crowd

We stand in speechless awe There is not a leaf on the mountain top, "Away, away, through the wide, wide sky,— I turned me to the pillow, then, Join; Authors; Topics; Movies; TV Shows; Search. "Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, While Mother sat outside the door, ‘Stars are dropping thick as stones’: so begins Plath’s poem about the stars, in which her speaker sits and watches the stars dropping into the landscape, prompting her to consider the universe, eternity, and other seemingly boundless things. Star, high star, far in the blue, "But tell the Baby when he wakes

In the dark blue sky you keep,

Can you see me through the dark See me here reaching for you Send me life, send me a spark so I know that it is the truth and that I am not alone. I see thee stand Dear, as we sit here together — What far horizon dim and low It isn't only flakes that fall Sighed the languid Moon to the Morning Star: If this, my soul, should be Who gives his life for beauty's need, A dust is coming through the sky! The Good that is the True Behind each star a small dream hides O constellations of the early night, That sparkled brighter as the twilight died, And made the darkness glorious! How calmly, brightly dost thou shine, At evening when I go to bed

Whoever wakens on a day O what can the stars desire, Constellations, The poem by William Cullen Bryant.



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