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Sylvia Plath
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November Graveyard
The scene stands stubborn:skinflint trees Hoard last leaves, won't mourn, wear sackcloth, or turn To elegiac dryads, and dour grass Guards the hard-hearted emerald of its grassiness However the grandiloquent mind may scorn Such poverty. So no dead men's voices Flower forget-me-nots between the stones Paving this grave ground. Here's honest rot To unpick the elaborate heart, pare bone Free of the fictive vein. When one stark skeleton 更多更詳盡歌詞 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔鏡歌詞網 Bulks real, all saints' tongues fall quiet: Flies watch no resurrections in the sun. At the essential landscape stare, stare Till your eyes foist a vision dazzling on the wind: Whatever lost ghosts flare, Damned, howling in their shrouds across the moor Rave on the leash of the starving mind Which peoples the bare room, the blank, untenanted air.
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