Window by window, you try and look into this brave new you that you are.
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Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose name you meditate—
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
LittleStalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classicalNot this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.
— Sylvia Plath, Child
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