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 fist Withdrew, His labour done. Thus did begin Our various divinity and sin. For some to ploughshares did the metal twist, And others--dreaming empires--straightway cut Crowns for their aching foreheads. Others beat Long nails and heavy hammers for the feet Of their forgotten Lord. (Who dares to boast That he is guiltless?) Others coined it: most Did with it--simply nothing. (Here again Who cries his innocence?) Yet doth remain Metal unmarred, to each man more or less, Whereof to fashion perfect loveliness.