This latest volume of Edith Sitwell's work makes her claim as the outstanding woman poet of England incontrovertible. In her earlier phases she seemed perhaps lost in a maze of absolutely individual and often obscure sense perception. But like so many who have seemed at first only to respond to the senses, this deep immersion in matter has at last brought her to the profoundest, philosophical understanding, and she emerges in this volume as a sort of seeress of doom and re-incarnation. With her own very peculiar scale of imagery, she has here devised poems which are intensely original and richly sumptuous. Her style is elevated and replete with allusions to poetry and philosophy of all ages and peoples; but it draws most heavily on the mystics, and is in itself mystical and almost apocalyptic. Her theme is ""the ultimate cold that lies within the heart of man""; but she is not without a belief in redemption by love. There is nothing meagre in Edith Sitwell's writing. It is musical and rich with the treasure of kings.. she seems always faintly aware of her own heritage from the Plantagenets. Fine poetry- for connoisseurs.