“The Patchwork Bonnet” by Robert Graves

The Patchwork Bonnet

Across the room my silent love I throw
Where you sit sewing in bed by candlelight,
Your young stern profile and industrious fingers
Displayed against the blind in a shadow-show,
To Dinda's grave delight.

The needle dips and pokes, the cheerful thread
Runs after, follow-my-leader down the seam:
The patchwork pieces cry for joy together,
O soon to sit as a crown on Dinda's head,
Fulfilment of their dream.

[ . . . ]

Robert Grave's poem "The Patchwork Bonnet" was published in Georgian Poetry , 1920-1922. To read this poem in full in a digitized version of this publication, follow the link below:


“Nocturnes” by Skipwith Cannell


Thy feet,
That are like little, silver birds,
Thou hast set upon pleasant ways;
Therefore I will follow thee,
Thou Dove of the Golden Eyes,
Upon any path will I follow thee,
For the light of thy beauty
Shines before me like a torch.

Thy feet are white
Upon the foam of the sea;
Hold me fast, thou bright Swan,
Lest I stumble,
And into deep waters.

[ . . . ]

Skipwith Cannell's poem sequence "Nocturnes" was published in the 1914 Des Imagistes anthology. To read the sequence in full in digitized versions of this publication, follow the links below: 


The Blue Mountain Project (The Glebe)

The Modernist Journals Project (The Glebe)

The Modernist Journals Project (Publisher: Albert and Charles Boni, NY)

The Modernist Journals Project (Publisher: The Poetry Bookshop, London)

“Apricot Jam” by Edith Sitwell

Apricot Jam

Beneath the dancing glancing green

The tea is spread, amid the sheen

of pinceneze (glints of thought); thus seen

In sharp reflections only, brain

Perceives the world all flat and plain

In rounded segments, joy and pain.


[ . . . ]


Edith Sitwell's poem "Apricot Jam" was published in 1918 in the third "cycle" of the Wheels anthologies. To read this poem in full in a digitized version of this publication, follow the links below:


The Modernist Journals Project

“Chanson Triste” by Edward Ramos

Chanson Triste

My heart is sorrowful and my dreams are broken,

The light of the sun shines not upon my house.


I went into the forest

Treading the dry leaves

And I saw two gleaming black eyes.


[ . . . ]


Edward Ramos' poem "Chanson Triste" was published in the 1916 Others anthology. To read this poem in full in a digitized version of this publication, follow the link below:


“Biography” by John Masefield


When I am buried, all my thoughts and adts
Will be reduced to lists of dates and facts,
And long before this wandering flesh is rotten
The dates which made me will be all forgotten;
And none will know the gleam there used to be
About the feast days freshly kept by me,
But men will call the golden hour of bliss
'About this time,' or 'shortly after this.'

Men do not heed the rungs by which men climb
Those glittering steps, those milestones upon time,
Those tombstones of dead selves, those hours of birth,
Those moments of the soul in years of earth.
They mark the height achieved, the main result,
The power of freedom in the perished cult,
The power of boredom in the dead man's deeds
Not the bright moments of the sprinkled seeds.

By many waters and on many ways
I have known golden instants and bright days;
The day on which, beneath an arching sail,
I saw the Cordilleras and gave hail;
The summer day on which in heart's delight
I saw the Swansea Mumbles bursting white,
The glittering day when all the waves wore flags
And the ship Wanderer came with sails in rags;
That curlew-calling time in Irish dusk
When life became more splendid than its husk,
When the rent chapel on the brae at Slains
Shone with a doorway opening beyond brains;
The dawn when, with a brace-block's creaking cry,
Out of the mist a little barque slipped by,
Spilling the mist with changing gleams of red,

Then gone, with one raised hand and one turned head;
The howling evening when the spindrift's mists
Broke to display the four Evangelists,
Snow-capped, divinely granite, lashed by breakers,
Wind-beaten bones of long-since-buried acres;
The night alone near water when I heard
All the sea's spirit spoken by a bird;
The English dusk when I beheld once more
(With eyes so changed) the ship, the citied shore,
The lines of masts, the streets so cheerly trod
In happier seasons, and gave thanks to God.
All had their beauty, their bright moments' gift,
Their something caught from Time, the ever-swift.

[ . . . ]

John Masefield's poem "Biography" was published in Georgian Poetry, 1911-1912. To read this poem in full in a digitized version of this publication, follow the link below: