"A man from a far country"
di Edith Sitwell (1887-1964)

Rose and Alice,
Oh, the pretty lassies,
With their mouths like a calice
And their hair a golden palace-
Through my heart like a lovely
wind they blow.
Though I am black and not comely,
Though I am black as the darkest trees,
I have swarms of gold that will fly
like honey-bees,
By the rivers of the sun
I will feed my words
Until they skip like those fleeced lambs
The waterfalls, and the rivers
(horned rams),
Then for all my darkness I shall be
The peacefulness of a lovely tree-
A tree wherein the golden birds
Are singing in the darkest branches, oh!