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The Snowman on the Moor
por
Sylvia Plath
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Stalemated their armies stood, with tottering banners: She flung from a room Still ringing with bruit of insults and dishonors And in fury left him Glowering at the coal-fire: ‘Come find me’—her last taunt. He did not come But sat on, guarding his grim battlement. By the doorstep Her winter-beheaded daisies, marrowless, gaunt, Warned her to keep Indoors with politic goodwill, not haste Into a landscape Of stark wind-harrowed hills and weltering mist; But from the house She stalked intractable as a driven ghost Across moor snows Pocked by rock-claw and rabbit-track: she must yet win Him to his knees— Let him send police and hounds to bring her in. Nursing her rage Through bare whistling heather, over stiles of black stone,
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