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Sitwell, Edith: Aubade

Portre of Sitwell, Edith

Aubade (English)

Jane, Jane

Tall as a crane,

The morning light creaks down again;


Comb your cockscomb-ragged hair,

Jane, Jane, Come down the stair.


Each dull blunt wooden stalactite

Of rain creaks, hardened by the light,


Sounding like an overtone

From some lonely world unknown.


But the creaking empty light

Will never harden into sight,


Will never penetrate your brain

With overtones like the blunt rain,


The light would show (if it could harden)

Eternities of kitchen garden,


Cockscomb flowers that none will pluck,

And wooden flowers that 'gin to cluck.


In the kitchen you must light

Flames as staring, red and white,


As carrots or as turnips, shining

Where the old dawn light lies whining


Cockscomb hair on the cold wind

Hangs limp, turns the milk's weak mind...


Jane, Jane,

Tall as a crane,

The morning light creaks down again!

Uploaded byP. T.
Source of the quotation