Sir Osbert Sitwell Poems

WHEN Orpheus with his wind-swift fingers
Ripples the strings that gleam like rain,
The wheeling birds fly up and sing,
Hither, thither echoing;
...

Silence o'erwhelms the melody of Night,
Then slowly drips on to the woods that sigh
For their past vivid vernal ecstasy.
...

The long war had ended.
Its miseries had grown faded.
Deaf men became difficult to talk to,
Heroes became bores.
...

Their youth was fevered - passionate, quick to drain
The last few pleasures from the cup of life
Before they turned to suck the dregs of pain
And end their young-old lives in mortal strife.
...

The city's heat is like a leaden pall—
Its lowered lamps glow in the midnight air
Like mammoth orange-moths that flit and flare
Through the dark tapestry of night. The tall
...

On the coast of Coromandel,
Dance they to the tune of Handel;
Chorally, that coral coast
Correlates the bone to ghost,
...

Continually they cackle thus,
Those venerable birds,
Crying, 'Those whom the Gods love
Die young'
Or something of that sort.
...

Therefore is the name of it called Babel
And still we stood and stared far down
Into that ember-glowing town
Which every shaft and shock of fate
...

I STAND alone through each long day
Upon these pavers; cannot see
The wares spread out upon this tray
—For God has taken sight from me!
...