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Within your magic web of hair, lies furled
The fire and splendour of the ancient world;
The dire gold of the comet's wind-blown hair;
The songs that turned to gold the evening air
When all the stars of heaven sang for joy.

— Edith Sitwell The Wooden Pegasus (1920)

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More quotes by Edith Sitwell

I am patient with stupidity but not with those who are proud of it.

The Last Years of a Rebel (1967)

My poems are hymns of praise to the glory of life.

Vulgarity is, in reality, nothing but a modern, chic, pert descendant of the goddess Dullness.

Taken Care Of (1965)

People are usually made Dames for virtues I do not possess.

The Last Years of a Rebel (1967)

Mother or Murderer, you have
given or taken life —
Now all is one!

The Canticle of the Rose (1949)

All Edith Sitwell quotes →

Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Edith Sitwell (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.