Not deliberately going down a Confessional rabbit hole, I swear! And in many ways, this is so far removed from a typical Confessional and a typical Plath poem (other than being good). It's got no darkness, no revealed secrets, and it celebrates the beauty of nature, throwing in a lot more religious metaphors than was typical of poets of the time. It's a small but lovely little piece that's often overlooked in favor of Plath's more provocative (and groundbreaking) works, but it's something I think it also worth celebrating.

April Aubade --Sylvia Plath

Worship this world of watercolor mood in glass pagodas hung with veils of green where diamonds jangle hymns within the blood and sap ascends the steeple of the vein.

A saintly sparrow jargons madrigals to waken dreamers in the milky dawn, while tulips bow like a college of cardinals before that papal paragon, the sun.

Christened in a spindrift of snowdrop stars, where on pink-fluted feet the pigeons pass and jonquils sprout like solomon's metaphors, my love and I go garlanded with grass.

Again we are deluded and infer that somehow we are younger than we were.