Tea Poetry II







A cup of chamomile, spritz of lemon & squeeze of honey


Poem: Edith Sitwell's "Spring"


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When spring begins, the maids in flocks

Walk in soft fields, and their sheepskin locks


Fall shadowless, soft as music, round

Their jonquil eyelids, and reach the ground.


Where the small fruit-buds begin to harden

Into sweet tunes in the palace garden,


They peck at the fruit-buds' hairy herds

With their lips like the gentle bills of birds.


But King Midas heard the swan-bosomed sky

Say 'All is surface, and so must die.'


And he said: 'It is spring; I will have a feast

To woo eternity; for my least


Palace is like a berg of ice;

And the spring winds, for birds of paradise,


With the leaping goat-footed waterfalls-cold,

Shall be served for me on a dish of gold


By a maiden fair as an almond-tree,

With hair like the waterfalls' goat-locks; she


Has lips like that jangling harsh pink rain,

The flower-bells that spirt on trees again.'


In Midas' garden the simple flowers

Laugh, and the tulips are bright as the showers,


For spring is here; the auriculas,

And the Emily-coloured primulas


Bob in their pinafores on the grass

As they watch the gardener's daughter pass.


Then King Midas said, 'At last I feel

Eternity conquered beneath my heel


Like the flittering snake of paradise-

And you are my Eve!'- but the maiden flies,


Like the leaping goat-footed waterfalls

Singing their cold, forlorn madrigals.