Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell Poems
|5.||Solo For Ear-Trumpet||4/2/2010|
|6.||The Dancers: (During A Great Battle, 1916)||4/2/2010|
|7.||The Lady With The Sewing-Machine||4/2/2010|
|8.||The Web Of Eros||4/2/2010|
|9.||Portrait Of A Barmaid||4/2/2010|
|10.||Heart And Mind||4/2/2010|
|11.||Bells Of Gray Crystal||1/13/2003|
|12.||Came The Great Popinjay||1/1/2004|
|14.||By The Lake||1/1/2004|
|16.||When Cold December||1/1/2004|
|18.||Still Falls The Rain||1/1/2004|
|19.||Four In The Morning||1/1/2004|
Four In The Morning
Cried the navy-blue ghost
Of Mr. Belaker
The allegro Negro cocktail-shaker,
"Why did the cock crow,
Why am I lost,
Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd?
The tropical leaves are whispering white
As water; I race the wind in my flight.
The white lace houses are carried away
By the tide; far out they float and sway.
White is the nursemaid on the parade.
Is she real, as she flirts with me unafraid?
I raced through the leaves as white as water...
Ghostly, flowed over the nursemaid, caught her,
Left her...edging the far-off sand
Is the foam of the ...
By The Lake
ACROSS the flat and the pastel snow
Two people go . . . . 'And do you remember
When last we wandered this shore?' . . . 'Ah no!
For it is cold-hearted December.'
'Dead, the leaves that like asses's ears hung on the trees
When last we wandered and squandered joy here;
Now Midas your husband will listen for these
Whispers--these tears for joy's bier.'
And as they walk, they seem tall pagodas;