Bells of Gray Crystal

Edith Sitwell, 1887-1964

Bells of gray crystal
Break on each bough --
The swans' breath will mist all
The cold airs now.
Like tall pagodas
Two people go,
Trail their long codas
Of talk through the snow.
Lonely are these
And lonely am I ...
The clouds, gray Chinese geese
Sleek through the sky.

c 1923

This poem from Collected Poems - Edith Sitwell is reprinted here by kind permission of, and with thanks to, Peters Fraser & Dunlop on behalf of the Estate of Edith Sitwell and her great nephew and literary executor William Sitwell - www.williamsitwell.com.