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 poem that delves into the complexities of human emotion, the insignificance of human existence in the face of nature, and the overwhelming sense of isolation experienced by the speaker. Through vivid imagery and evocative language, Plath creates a haunting landscape that reflects the speaker’s inner turmoil and despair.

In the first stanza, the speaker describes the horizons as encircling her like bundles of sticks, portraying a sense of confinement and instability. The horizons are depicted as “tilted and disparate,” emphasizing their disorienting and unsettling nature. The speaker imagines that if the horizons were touched by a match, they might warm her, but ultimately they only singe the air to orange, highlighting the fleeting nature of warmth and comfort.

Moving on to the second stanza, the speaker reflects on the absence of life in the landscape, stating that there is “no life higher than the grasstops or the hearts of sheep.” This suggests a barren and desolate environment, where even the wind, described as pouring by like destiny, serves as a metaphor for fate, further reinforcing the speaker’s feelings of powerlessness.

In the third stanza, the speaker observes the sheep in the field, describing them as browsing in their dirty wool-clouds. The sheep’s black pupils are likened to “slots,” suggesting a sense of vacancy and emptiness. The speaker feels as though she is being observed by the sheep, but their gaze only serves to deepen her sense of alienation from the natural world.

As the poem progresses, the speaker encounters signs of decay and ruin, such as wheel ruts and unhinged doorsteps. These images serve as reminders of the impermanence of life and the inevitability of death. The repetition of “black stone, black stone” by the air suggests a sense of foreboding and despair, as if the landscape itself is mourning the passage of time.

In the final stanzas, the speaker’s loneliness and despair reach a crescendo. The sky leans on her, the grass beats its head distractedly, and darkness terrifies her. These images convey a sense of overwhelming oppression and hopelessness, as if the natural world itself is closing in on the speaker.

In summary, “Wuthering Heights” is a powerful exploration of isolation, alienation, and the oppressive weight of nature. Through vivid imagery and evocative language, Sylvia Plath creates a haunting portrait of a speaker struggling to find meaning and connection in a hostile and indifferent world.