Where it may drink its fill
Of stars.
At the same time, here and there are evidences that Mr. Sitwell has felt as well as fancied. The opening verse of Pierrot Old gives us a real impression of shadows:
The harvest moon is at its height,
The evening primrose greets its light
With grace and joy: then opens up
The mimic moon within its cup.
Tall trees, as high as Babel tower,
Throw down their shadows to the flower—
Shadows that shiver—seem to see