"Four in the morning"
di Edith Sitwell (1887-1964)

Cried the navy-blue ghost
of Mr. Belaker
The allegro negro cocktail-shaker:
Why did the cock crow,
Why am I lost
Down the endless road
to Infinity toss'd'?
The tropical leaves
are whispering white as water:
I race the wind in my flight down
the promenade, -
Edging the far-off sand
Is the foam of the sirens'
Metropole and Grand,-
As I raced through the leaves
as white as water
My ghost flowed over a nursemaid,
caught her,
And there I saw the long grass weep,
Where tile guinea-fowl plumaged
houses sleep
And the sweet ring-doves
of curded milk
Watch the Infanta's gown of silk
the ghost-room tall
where the governante
Whispers slyly fading andante
In at the window then looked he,
The navy-blue ghost of Mr. Belaker,
The allegro negro cocktail-shaker,-
And his flattened face like the moon
saw she,-
Rhinoceros-black yet flowing like
the sea.