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Edith Sitwell.........and, here is the poem that she wrote in 1940.
Still Falls the Rain
Still
falls the Rain—-
Dark as the world of man, black as our loss—-
Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails
Upon the Cross.
Dark as the world of man, black as our loss—-
Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails
Upon the Cross.
Still
falls the Rain
With a sound like the pulse of the heart that is changed to the hammer-beat
In the Potter’s Field, and the sound of the impious feet
With a sound like the pulse of the heart that is changed to the hammer-beat
In the Potter’s Field, and the sound of the impious feet
On
the Tomb:
Still falls the Rain
Still falls the Rain
In
the Field of Blood where the small hopes breed and the human brain
Nurtures its greed, that worm with the brow of Cain.
Nurtures its greed, that worm with the brow of Cain.
Still
falls the Rain
At the feet of the Starved Man hung upon the Cross.
Christ that each day, each night, nails there, have mercy on us—-
On Dives and on Lazarus:
Under the Rain, the sore and the gold are as one.
At the feet of the Starved Man hung upon the Cross.
Christ that each day, each night, nails there, have mercy on us—-
On Dives and on Lazarus:
Under the Rain, the sore and the gold are as one.
Still
falls the Rain—-
Still falls the Blood from the Starved Man’s wounded Side:
He bears in His Heart all wounds,—-those of the light that died,
The last faint spark
In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad uncomprehending dark,
The wounds of the baited bear—-
The blind and weeping bear whom the keepers beat
On his helpless flesh… the tears of the hunted hare.
Still falls the Blood from the Starved Man’s wounded Side:
He bears in His Heart all wounds,—-those of the light that died,
The last faint spark
In the self-murdered heart, the wounds of the sad uncomprehending dark,
The wounds of the baited bear—-
The blind and weeping bear whom the keepers beat
On his helpless flesh… the tears of the hunted hare.
Still
falls the Rain—-
Then—- O Ile leap....
See, see where Christ’s bloodstreams in the firmament:
It flows from the Brow we nailed upon the tree
Then—- O Ile leap....
See, see where Christ’s bloodstreams in the firmament:
It flows from the Brow we nailed upon the tree
Deep
to the dying, to the thirsting heart
That holds the fires of the world,—-dark-smirched with pain
As Caesar’s laurel crown.
That holds the fires of the world,—-dark-smirched with pain
As Caesar’s laurel crown.
Was once a child who among beasts has lain—-
“Still do I love, still shed my innocent light, my Blood, for thee.”
