The horizons ring me like faggots, Tilted and disparate, and always unstable. Touched by a match, they might warm me, And their fine lines singe The air to orange Before the distances they pin evaporate, Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color. But they only dissolve and dissolve Like a series of promises, as I step forward.
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I description is so detailed and precise i get a real picture of the moors and represents the ones near me perfectly. Constructive criticism - perhaps try to get it more wild? Like the passion of cathy?
More about "Wuthering Heights" by Silvia Plath. Deconstruction of the Poem.
The horizons ring me like faggots,. Tilted and disparate, and always unstable. Touched by a match, they might warm me,. And their fine lines singe. The air to orange. Before the distances they pin evaporate,. Weighing the pale sky with a solider color. But they only dissolve and dissolve.
While it does an accurate job of describing the moorlands, the choices and imagery that Plath uses are, in some ways, windows into her troubled mind. Even toward the end, when there is some light it is muted — gleaming like nothing more than small change. Even the warm lights of the houses in the valleys seem like small comfort to the speaker, and the rest of the imagery is much darker in tone.