Here you will find the Poem Solo For Ear-Trumpet of poet Dame Edith Sitwell
The carriage brushes through the bright Leaves (violent jets from life to light); Strong polished speed is plunging, heaves Between the showers of bright hot leaves The window-glasses glaze our faces And jar them to the very basis ? But they could never put a polish Upon my manners or abolish My most distinct disinclination For calling on a rich relation! In her house ? (bulwark built between The life man lives and visions seen) ? The sunlight hiccups white as chalk, Grown drunk with emptiness of talk, And silence hisses like a snake ? Invertebrate and rattling ache?. Then suddenly Eternity Drowns all the houses like a sea And down the street the Trump of Doom Blares madly ? shakes the drawing-room Where raw-edged shadows sting forlorn As dank dark nettles. Down the horn Of her ear-trumpet I convey The news that 'It is Judgment Day!' 'Speak louder: I don't catch, my dear.' I roared: 'It is the Trump we hear!' 'The What?' 'THE TRUMP!' 'I shall complain! ?. the boy-scouts practising again.'