Sir Osbert Sitwell
Sir Osbert Sitwell Poems
- Orpheus WHEN Orpheus with his wind-swift fingers Ripples ...
- Babel -new- Therefore is the name of it called Babel And still we ...
- How Shall we Rise to Greet the... -new- Continually they cackle ...
- On The Coast Of Coromandel -new- On the coast of Coromandel, Dance...
- Progress -new- The city's heat is like a leaden pall— Its lowered...
- This Generation -new- Their youth was fevered - passionate, quick ...
- The Next War -new- The long war had ended. Its miseries had grown...
Sir Osbert Sitwell was born in London on 6 December 1892, the son of Sir George Sitwell. He was raised in Derbyshire and educated at Eton. He sat for the exam for entry to Sandhurst twice but failed both attempts but later during the First World War Sitwell served as an officer in the Grenadier Guards, in France for various periods from 1914 to 1917. His experiences left him with hatred of war.
Along with sister Edith and brother Sacheverell, Osbert Sitwell was a patron and pioneer of style, remembered chiefly for his five-volume autobiography, Left Hand, Right Hand! (1945-50, comprising Left Hand, Right Hand!; The Scarlet Tree; Great Morning; Laughter in the Next Room and ... more »
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Comments about Sir Osbert Sitwell
WHEN Orpheus with his wind-swift fingers
Ripples the strings that gleam like rain,
The wheeling birds fly up and sing,
Hither, thither echoing;
There is a crackling of dry twigs,
A sweeping of leaves along the ground,
Fawny faces and dumb eyes
Peer through the fluttering screens
That mask ferocious teeth and claws
As the music sighs up the hill-side,
The young ones hear,
Come skipping, ambling, rolling down,
Their soft ears flapping as they run,
Their fleecy coats catching in the thickets,
Till they lie, listening, round...