quinta-feira, 28 de março de 2013


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 talk 
She hears the caustic ticking of the clock. 

Sylvia Plath