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<Text id=PlaCros>
<Author>Plath, Sylvia</Author>
<Title>Crossing the Water</Title>
<Edition>London: Faber and Faber, 1971</Edition>
<Date>1960-1961</Date>
<body>
<loc><locdoc>PlaCros11</locdoc><milestone n=11>
<div0><div0.title>Wuthering Heights</div0.title>
<div1 type=stanza n=1>
<l>The horizons ring me like faggots,</l>
<l>Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.</l>
<l>Touched by a match, they might warm me,</l>
<l>And their fine lines singe</l>
<l>The air to orange</l>
<l>Before the distances they pin evaporate,</l>
<l>Weighting the pale sky with a solider colour.</l>
<l>But they only dissolve and dissolve</l>
<l>Like a series of promises, as I step forward.</l>
</div1><div1 type=stanza n=2>
<l>There is no life higher than the grasstops</l>
<l>Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind</l>
<l>Pours by like destiny, bending</l>
<l>Everything in one direction.</l>
<l>I can feel it trying</l>
<l>If I pay the roots of the heather</l>
<l>Too close attention, they will invite me</l>
<l>To wh . . .
