Louis Untermeyer, ed. (1885–1977). Modern British Poetry. 1920.
Osbert Sitwell18921969The Blind Pedlar
I
Upon these pavers; cannot see
The wares spread out upon this tray
—For God has taken sight from me!
When I was born. My peering eyes
Have sought for but one ray of light
To pierce the darkness. When the skies
On budding branches; when the morn
Is sweet with breath of spring and flowers,
I’ve cursed the night when I was born.
For what I cannot see this day
—The young men cripples, old, and sad,
With faces burnt and torn away;
Have battened on the slaughter,
Whose faces, gorged with blood and gold,
Are creased in purple laughter!