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Sylvia Plath - The Great Carbuncle
Work rating: Low

We came over the moor-top
Through air streaming and green-lit,
Stone farms foundering in it,
Valleys of grass altering
In a light neither dawn

Nor nightfall, out hands, faces
Lucent as percelain, the earth`s
Claim and weight gone out of them.
Some such transfiguring moved
The eight pilgrims towards its source—

Toward the great jewel: shown often,
Never given; hidden, yet
Simultaneously seen
On moor-top, at sea-bottom,
Knowable only by light

Other than noon, that moon, stars —-
The once-known way becoming
Wholly other, and ourselves
Estranged, changed, suspended where
Angels are rumored, clearly

Floating , among the floating
Tables and chairs. Gravity`s
Lost in the lift and drift of
An easier element
Than earth, and there is nothing

So fine we cannot do it.
But nearing means distancing:
At the common homecoming
Light withdraws. Chairs, tables drop
Down: the body weighs like stone.
Source
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