string from the sky

This wood burns a dark Incense. Pale moss dripsIn elbow-scarves, beards From the archaicBones of the great trees.Blue mists move over A lake thick with fish.Snails scroll the borderOf the glazed water With coils of ram’s-horn.Out in the openDown there the late year Hammers her rare andVarious metals.Old pewter roots twist Up from the jet-backedMirror of waterAnd while the air’s clear Hourglass sifts a Drift of goldpiecesBright waterlights are Sliding their quoits oneAfter the otherDown boles of the fir. Sylvia Plath: Dark Wood, Dark Water

This wood burns a dark 
Incense. Pale moss drips
In elbow-scarves, beards

From the archaic
Bones of the great trees.
Blue mists move over

A lake thick with fish.
Snails scroll the border
Of the glazed water

With coils of ram’s-horn.
Out in the open
Down there the late year

Hammers her rare and
Various metals.
Old pewter roots twist

Up from the jet-backed
Mirror of water
And while the air’s clear

Hourglass sifts a 
Drift of goldpieces
Bright waterlights are

Sliding their quoits one
After the other
Down boles of the fir.

Sylvia Plath: Dark Wood, Dark Water

(Source: it-might-be-hard-to-handle)