Cuts Like a Knife

I just finished reading the restored edition of Sylvia Plath’s Ariel. I wasn’t terribly wowed, but these last lines of “A Birthday Present” are tremendous.

Only let down the veil, the veil, the veil.
If it were death

I would admire the deep gravity of it, its timeless eyes.
I would know you were serious.

There would be a nobility then, there would be a birthday.
And the knife not carve, but enter

Pure and clean as the cry of a baby,
And the universe slide from my side.