普拉斯(Sylvia Plath)Morning Songmusic by 约翰 Mitchellwords by 普拉斯(Sylvia Plath)Wendy Lashbrook, sopranoLove set you going like a fat gold watch
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cryTook its place among the elements
Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival
New statueIn a drafty museum, your nakednessShadows our safety
We stand round blankly as walls
I'm no more your motherThan the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slowEffacement at the wind's hand
All night your moth-breathFlickers among the flat pink roses
I wake to listen:A far sea moves in my ear
One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floralIn my Victorian nightgown
Your mouth opens clean as a cat's
The window squareWhitens and swallows its dull stars
And now you tryYour handful of notes;The clear v
