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bansaisequoia
October 13, 2009, 11:02 pm
Something lies beyond the scene, the encre de chine, marine, obscene Horizon In Hell. Black as a bison, See the tall black Aga on the sofa in the alga mope, his Bell-rope Moustache (clear as a great bell!) Waves in eighteen-eighty Bustles Come Late with tambourines of Rustling Foam. They answer to the names Of ancient dames and shames, and Only call horizons their home. Coldly where (Chinese as these black-armoured fleas that dance) the breezes Seeking for horizons Wide; from her orisons In her wide Vermilion Pavilion By the seaside The doors clang open and hide Where the wind died Nothing but the Princess Cockatrice Lean Dancing a caprice To the wind's tambourine! -- Dame Edith Sitwell (1887--1964)
bansaisequoia
October 13, 2009, 11:02 pm
Something lies beyond the scene, the encre de chine, marine, obscene Horizon In Hell. Black as a bison, See the tall black Aga on the sofa in the alga mope, his Bell-rope Moustache (clear as a great bell!) Waves in eighteen-eighty Bustles Come Late with tambourines of Rustling Foam. They answer to the names Of ancient dames and shames, and Only call horizons their home. Coldly where (Chinese as these black-armoured fleas that dance) the breezes Seeking for horizons Wide; from her orisons In her wide Vermilion Pavilion By the seaside The doors clang open and hide Where the wind died Nothing but the Princess Cockatrice Lean Dancing a caprice To the wind's tambourine! -- Dame Edith Sitwell (1887--1964)
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