taken from: plath's 'three women; a poem for three voices'

original text:

[...] What did my fingers do before they held him?
What did my heart do, with its love?
I have never seen a thing so clear.
His lids are like the lilac-flower
And soft as a moth, his breath.
I shall not let go.
There is no guile or warp in him. May he keep so. [...]

about the quoted person:

American writer whose best-known poems are noted for their personal imagery and intense focus. Plath wrote only two books before her suicide at the age of 31.see literature for a comprehensive biography.