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To last it out and not come back at all.

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And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. To the same place, the same face, the same brute. For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge. And there is a charge, a very large charge. Do not think I underestimate your great concern. Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers. Poetry and Feminism. Read More.

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Poem Sampler. Sylvia Plath Paperback , 64 pages. More Details Other Editions 1. Friend Reviews. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about Poems from My Heart , please sign up. Lists with This Book. This book is not yet featured on Listopia.

Community Reviews. Showing Rating details. More filters. Sort order. Great poetry. Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among.

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Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor; Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door. The children sit and sing, and their voices rise up to heaven far above their aged guardians. The poem ends with a moral: have pity on those less fortunate than yourself, as they include angelic boys and girls like those described here.

As the boys and girls raise their hands and their voices to heaven, the narrator imagines them rising up to heaven too, just as Christ himself did on Ascension Day. My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O!

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My mother taught me underneath a tree And sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And pointing to the east began to say. Look on the rising sun: there God does live And gives his light, and gives his heat away. And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning joy in the noonday.

And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love, And these black bodies and this sun-burnt face Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove. Thus did my mother say and kissed me, And thus I say to little English boy. When I from black and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs we joy:. Ill shade him from the heat till he can bear, To lean in joy upon our fathers knee. In this poem, the narrator is a young black boy. He insists that though his exterior is black, inside his soul is as white or "pure" as the angelic-looking child.

The black boy will become like the white boy, who in turn will learn to love his black counterpart. This poem, composed in , dates from the dawn of the anti-slavery movement, just a year after the Society for the Abolition of the Slave Trade had been founded. Its key feature is the power-shift between the black boy and the white boy that occurs in the course of the poem. In the first verse, the black boy feels physically inferior to his white counterpart. The boy comforts Tom Dacre, another sweep whose blond hair has just been shaved off. Tom goes to sleep and dreams that an angel sets free all the sweeps so they can run, play and swim freely in the innocence of youth.

The boys were forced up narrow, winding chimneys to clean them of soot.

kinun-houju.com/wp-content/pisumivom/1809.php Some suffocated inside the chimneys they were trying to clean. Others grew up stunted and deformed, dying at a young age from cancer or lung diseases.

“My heart is a shadow, a light and a guide. Closed or open… I get to decide.”

The moral at the end of the poem is the statement of the young sweep who narrates the poem. Yet the sweep is just innocently repeating the moral code which he has been taught by society. Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty! And their sun does never shine, And their fields are bleak and bare, And their ways are filled with thorns: It is eternal winter there.