The Poetry of D. H. Lawrence. D. H. Lawrence

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The Poetry of D. H. Lawrence - D. H. Lawrence

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call him to see The starling shaking its head as it walks in the grass— Ah, who knows how? He cannot see it, I can never show it him, how it shook— Don't disturb him, darling. —Its head as it walked: I can never call him to me, Never, he is not, whatever shall come to pass. No, look at the wet starling.

      In Trouble and Shame

       Table of Contents

      I look at the swaling sunset

       And wish I could go also

       Through the red doors beyond the black-purple bar.

       I wish that I could go

       Through the red doors where I could put off

       My shame like shoes in the porch,

       My pain like garments,

       And leave my flesh discarded lying

       Like luggage of some departed traveller

       Gone one knows not where.

       Then I would turn round,

       And seeing my cast-off body lying like lumber,

       I would laugh with joy.

      Elegy

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      Since I lost you, my darling, the sky has come near,

       And I am of it, the small sharp stars are quite near,

       The white moon going among them like a white bird among snow-berries,

       And the sound of her gently rustling in heaven like a bird I hear.

       And I am willing to come to you now, my dear,

       As a pigeon lets itself off from a cathedral dome

       To be lost in the haze of the sky, I would like to come,

       And be lost out of sight with you, and be gone like foam.

       For I am tired, my dear, and if I could lift my feet,

       My tenacious feet from off the dome of the earth

       To fall like a breath within the breathing wind

       Where you are lost, what rest, my love, what rest!

      Grey Evening

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      When you went, how was it you carried with you

       My missal book of fine, flamboyant hours?

       My book of turrets and of red-thorn bowers,

       And skies of gold, and ladies in bright tissue?

       Now underneath a blue-grey twilight, heaped

       Beyond the withering snow of the shorn fields

       Stands rubble of stunted houses; all is reaped

       And garnered that the golden daylight yields.

       Dim lamps like yellow poppies glimmer among

       The shadowy stubble of the under-dusk,

       As farther off the scythe of night is swung,

       And little stars come rolling from their husk.

       And all the earth is gone into a dust

       Of greyness mingled with a fume of gold,

       Covered with aged lichens, pale with must,

       And all the sky has withered and gone cold.

       And so I sit and scan the book of grey,

       Feeling the shadows like a blind man reading,

       All fearful lest I find the last words bleeding

       With wounds of sunset and the dying day.

      Firelight and Nightfall

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      The darkness steals the forms of all the queens,

       But oh, the palms of his two black hands are red,

       Inflamed with binding up the sheaves of dead

       Hours that were once all glory and all queens.

       And I remember all the sunny hours

       Of queens in hyacinth and skies of gold,

       And morning singing where the woods are scrolled

       And diapered above the chaunting flowers.

       Here lamps are white like snowdrops in the grass;

       The town is like a churchyard, all so still

       And grey now night is here; nor will

       Another torn red sunset come to pass.

      The Mystic Blue

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      Out of the darkness, fretted sometimes in its sleeping,

       Jets of sparks in fountains of blue come leaping

       To sight, revealing a secret, numberless secrets keeping.

       Sometimes the darkness trapped within a wheel

       Runs into speed like a dream, the blue of the steel

       Showing the rocking darkness now a-reel.

       And out of the invisible, streams of bright blue drops

       Rain from the showery heavens, and bright blue crops

       Surge from the under-dark to their ladder-tops.

       And all the manifold blue and joyous eyes,

       The rainbow arching over in the skies,

      

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