Archive for December 3rd, 2017

Sunday, 3 December 2017

The Parrot by Sacheverell Reresby Sitwell

The parrot’s voice snaps out–
No good to contradict–
What he says he’ll say again:
Dry facts, like biscuits,–

His voice and vivid colours
Of his breast and wings
Are immemoriably old;
Old dowagers dressed in crimpèd satin
Boxed in their rooms
Like specimens beneath a glass
Inviolate–and never changing,
Their memory of emotions dead;
The ardour of their summers
Sprayed like camphor
On their silken parasols
Entissued in a cupboard.

Reflective, but with never a new thought
The parrot sways upon his ivory perch–
Then gravely turns a somersault
Through rings nailed in the roof–
Much as the sun performs his antics
As he climbs the aerial bridge
We only see
Through crystal prisms in a falling rain.

From: http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/sitwell2.html

Date:  1922

By: Sacheverell Reresby Sitwell (1897-1988)

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