Ariel: The Restored Edition

by Sylvia Plath

Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.

I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

The world forever, I shall not entirely Sit emptied of beauties, the gift Of your small breath, the drenched grass Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies. Their flesh bears no relation. Cold folds of ego, the calla,