The horizons ring me like faggots,
Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.

Touched by a match, they might warm me,
And their fine lines singe
The air to orange
Before the distances they pin evaporate,
Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color.
But they only dissolve and dissolve
Like a series of promises, as I step forward.

There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
I can feel it trying
To funnel my heat away.
If I pay the roots of the heather
Too close attention, they will invite me
To whiten my bones among them.

The sheep know where they are,
Browsing in their dirty wool-clouds,
Gray as the weather.
The black slots of their pupils take me in.
It is like being mailed into space,
A thin, silly message.
They stand about in grandmotherly disguise,
All wig curls and yellow teeth
And hard, marbly baas.

I come to wheel ruts, and water
Limpid as the solitudes
That flee through my fingers.
Hollow doorsteps go from grass to grass;
Lintel and sill have unhinged themselves.
Of people and the air only
Remembers a few odd syllables.
It rehearses them moaningly:
Black stone, black stone.

The sky leans on me, me, the one upright
Among all horizontals.
The grass is beating its head distractedly.
It is too delicate
For a life in such company;
Darkness terrifies it.
Now, in valleys narrow
And black as purses, the house lights
Gleam like small change.

“Wuthering Heights” by Sylvia Plath is a poignant poem that delves into themes of isolation, alienation, and the overwhelming power of nature. Through vivid imagery and evocative language, Plath paints a picture of a desolate landscape where the speaker feels disconnected and vulnerable.

The poem begins with the speaker describing how the horizons seem to encircle her like objects that could potentially provide warmth but instead dissolve like broken promises. This imagery sets the tone for the rest of the poem, highlighting the speaker’s sense of instability and disillusionment.

As the poem progresses, the speaker reflects on the lack of life in the landscape, noting that there is nothing higher than the grasstops or the hearts of sheep. The wind, described as bending everything in one direction, serves as a metaphor for destiny or fate, further emphasizing the speaker’s feelings of powerlessness.

The sheep, with their dark pupils, become symbolic of the speaker’s alienation from the natural world. The speaker feels as though she is being observed like a “thin, silly message” mailed into space, highlighting her sense of insignificance in the grand scheme of things.

Throughout the poem, the speaker encounters signs of decay and ruin, such as wheel ruts and unhinged doorsteps, which serve as reminders of the impermanence of life. The air itself seems to remember only a few odd syllables, hinting at a forgotten history and a sense of loss.

As the poem reaches its conclusion, the speaker expresses a profound sense of loneliness and despair. The sky leans on her, the grass beats its head distractedly, and darkness terrifies her. Even the distant house lights gleam like “small change,” underscoring the speaker’s feelings of insignificance in the vastness of the natural world.

In summary, “Wuthering Heights” is a powerful exploration of isolation, alienation, and the oppressive weight of nature. Through rich imagery and poignant language, Sylvia Plath captures the speaker’s inner turmoil and despair, creating a haunting and unforgettable portrait of the human condition.