Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, EIGHT SONGS TO MY SISTER GEORGIA: 5. THE GREENGAGE TREE, by EDITH SITWELL


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EIGHT SONGS TO MY SISTER GEORGIA: 5. THE GREENGAGE TREE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: From gold-mosaic'd wave
Last Line: And sticky from the dew my golden net doth hold.


FROM gold-mosaic'd wave
And from the fountain cave
Grew my dark-plumaged leaves all green and fountain-cold,
My minarets of gold,

Mosaic'd like the tomb,
Far in the forest gloom,
Of water-lovely Fatima in forests far away.
The gardener doth sway

The branches and doth find
(As wrinkled dark and kind
As satyrs) these with satyrs' straw beards twined
By that gold-fingered arborist the wind.

Among thick leaves the shade
Seems like a cavalcade,
Or Artemis plume-helmeted from sylvan serenade,
Or Amazons' ambassade.

A Caliph plays a lute,
A gardener plays a flute,
Then from my feathered stem a most delightful gust, a glittering sea
Grows in my rich fruit.

And each bird-angel comes
To sip dark honey from my plums,
My rich green amber gums
That make puffed feather sleeves, long feathered skirts all gold,
And sticky from the dew my golden net doth hold.





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