London, my beautiful,
it is not the sunset
nor the pale green sky
shimmering through the curtain
of the silver birch,
nor the quietness;
it is not the hopping
of birds
upon the lawn,
nor the darkness
stealing over 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.