“Trumpets” by Sacheverell Sitwell


Woven from the tangled hair of comets
On the never-ceasing shuttles of the wind,
Night, thick Tabernacle for the sun, is pitched;
And from the deepening gloom
Ring out the trumpets
Red and quick as sparks
Before the vivifying camp-fire of the Gods.

        *       *       *       *
The blare of a Trumpet is brazen, fierce
As the culminate charge that decides a battle.—
Great plumes like clouds wind-riven
Float behind each fighter,
And their armour glints and gleams in the Sun.—
The horses hooves beat loud, insistent,—
As ominous and dire as kettledrums;
The whole Earth's expectant.


Sacheverell Sitwell's poem "Trumpets" was published in the second "cycle" of the Wheels anthology in 1917. To read this poem in full in this publication context, follow the link(s) below:


Librivox audio recording hosted on Archive.org

The Modernist Journals Project