Yes please. This is a fabulous collection of all MzPlath's work. Lady Lazurus is my favorite by far. Shall I list it here? Well, ok. 
 Lady Lazarus 
 I have done it again. 
 One year in every ten 
 I manage it----- 
 A sort of walking miracle, my skin 
 Bright as a Nazi lampshade, 
 My right foot 
 A paperweight, 
 My featureless, fine 
 Jew linen. 
 Peel off the napkin 
 O my enemy. 
 Do I terrify?------- 
 The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? 
 The sour breath 
 Will vanish in a day. 
 Soon, soon the flesh 
 The grave cave ate will be 
 At home on me 
 And I a smiling woman. 
 I am only thirty. 
 And like the cat I have nine times to die. 
 This is Number Three. 
 What a trash 
 To annihilate each decade. 
 What a million filaments. 
 The Peanut-crunching crowd 
 Shoves in to see 
 Them unwrap me hand and foot ------ 
 The big strip tease. 
 Gentleman , ladies 
 These are my hands 
 My knees. 
 I may be skin and bone, 
 Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. 
 The first time it happened I was ten. 
 It was an accident. 
 The second time I meant 
 To last it out and not come back at all. 
 I rocked shut 
 As a seashell. 
 They had to call and call 
 And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. 
 Dying 
 Is an art, like everything else. 
 I do it exceptionally well. 
 I do it so it feels like hell. 
 I do it so it feels real. 
 I guess you could say I've a call. 
 It's easy enough to do it in a cell. 
 It's easy enough to do it and stay put. 
 It's the theatrical 
 Comeback in broad day 
 To the same place, the same face, the same brute 
 Amused shout: 
 'A miracle!' 
 That knocks me out. 
 There is a charge 
 For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge 
 For the hearing of my heart--- 
 It really goes. 
 And there is a charge, a very large charge 
 For a word or a touch 
 Or a bit of blood 
 Or a piece of my hair on my clothes. 
 So, so, Herr Doktor. 
 So, Herr Enemy. 
 I am your opus, 
 I am your valuable, 
 The pure gold baby 
 That melts to a shriek. 
 I turn and burn. 
 Do not think I underestimate your great concern. 
 Ash, ash--- 
 You poke and stir. 
 Flesh, bone, there is nothing there---- 
 A cake of soap, 
 A wedding ring, 
 A gold filling. 
 Herr God, Herr Lucifer 
 Beware 
 Beware. 
 Out of the ash 
 I rise with my red hair 
 And I eat men like air.