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The Eye-Mote

Sylvia Plath

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I dream that I am Oedipus. . . .
Added by: Samuel Biagetti
I love this poem for the way it transforms the disturbing, tangible vividness of the "red cinder" stuck in the speaker's eye, so effortlessly, INTO the sad, dreamy wistfulness of the ending -- "A time, a place, gone out of mind." One of Plath's best early works.

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