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Recall that Sylvia is contemplating the first snowfall from her dorm/sorority window, and her thoughts take a surprisingly dark turn, as she starts to write about war and the end of civilizations, starting off thus: “Now there is a stippling of white caught on the edge of things, and I wonder what would happen to us all if the planes came, and the bombs.” I suppose this is the influence of her studies aided by a morbid streak.
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Yet, while America dies like the great Roman Empire died, while the legions fail and the barbarians overrun our tender, steak-juicy, butter-creamy million-dollar-stupendous land, somewhere there will be the people that never mattered much in our scheme of things anyway. In India, perhaps, or Africa, they will rise.
-- Sylvia Plath, The Journals 1950
_ _ _
Yet, while America dies like the great Roman Empire died, while the legions fail and the barbarians overrun our tender, steak-juicy, butter-creamy million-dollar-stupendous land, somewhere there will be the people that never mattered much in our scheme of things anyway. In India, perhaps, or Africa, they will rise.
-- Sylvia Plath, The Journals 1950
