Interlude -Edith Sitwell
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.