Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Mrs. Freudenthal Consults the Witch of EndorOsbert Sitwell
A
Escapes detection in a throng—
So she hopes; but sense of sin
Made her shrink, and steal along.
To semblance of a cool canal,
Where iridescent insects beat
Their wings upon the liquid wall;
Buzz and flutter busily—
Smile, or frown, or nod the head,
Expressing some familiar lie.
Consult the scintillating ball.
Beatrice Freudenthal, beware!
Eve felt like you before the Fall.
Lies luck-at-bridge, or martyr’s crown;
A modern prophetess will probe
The future, for one guinea down.
From crystal scabbard she will drag.
She can unpack the future’s hoard
As we unpack a Gladstone bag.
Without the agency of man,
Solely by fasting and by prayer,
The wizards of old Jenghiz Khan
Could move a wine-cup through the air
Fermented juice of rye or grape.
The cup flew back; his courtiers shrank
Away, astonished and agape.
With state affairs, he learns to spin
(Despite Sir Isaac Newton’s apple)
In mid-air sixty times—to win
From skeptical ambassadors;
For any kind of levitation
Increases prestige with the Powers.
To promote war or anarchy;
Yet now such things would even end
A Constitutional Monarchy.
Is surely wrong; how strictly hidden
The future in its crystal case
Lies—oh, so near, and yet forbidden!
May weave a spell or dance like Tich,
Yet ponder on the bleaching bones
Of Saul, who sought the Endor witch.