all things
that moves me.

But as the moon creeps slowly
over the tree-tops
among the stars,
I think of her
and the glow her passing
sheds on men.

London, my beautiful,
I will climb
into the branches
to the moonlit tree-tops,
that my blood may be cooled
by the wind.

_Edith Sitwell_

Edith Sitwell was born at Scarborough, in Yorkshire, and is the sister
of the poets, Osbert and Sacheverell Sitwell. In 1914 she came to
London and has devoted herself to literature ever since, having edited
the various anthologies of _Wheels_ since 1916. Her first book, _The
Mother and Other Poems_ (1915), contains some of her best work,
although _Clowns' Houses_ (1918) reveals a more piquant idiom and a
sharper turn of mind.

THE WEB OF EROS

Within your magic web of hair, lies furled
The fire and splendour of the ancient world;
The dire gold of the comet's wind-blown hair;
The songs that turned to gold the evening air
When all the stars of heaven sang for joy.
The flames that burnt the cloud-high city Troy.
The maenad fire of spring on the cold earth;
The myrrh-lit flame that gave both death and birth
To the soul Phoenix; and the star-bright shower
That came to Danae in her brazen tower....
Within your magic web of hair lies furled
The fire and splendour of the ancient world.

INTERLUDE

Amid this hot green glowing gloom
A word falls with a raindrop's boom....

Like baskets of ripe fruit in air
The bird-songs seem, suspended where

Those goldfinches--the ripe warm lights
Peck slyly at them--take quick flights.

My feet are feathered like a bird
Among the shadows scarcely heard;

I bring you branches green with dew
And fruits that you may crown anew

Your whirring waspish-gilded hair
Amid this cornucopia--

Until your warm lips bear the stains
And bird-blood leap within your veins.

_F. W. Harvey_

Harvey was a lance-corporal in the English army and was in the German
prison camp at Guetersloh when he wrote _The Bugler_, one of the
isolated great poems written during the war. Much of his other verse
is haphazard and journalistic, although _Gloucestershire Friends_
contains several lines that glow with the colors of poetry.

THE BUGLER

God dreamed a man;
Then, having firmly shut
Life like a precious metal in his