David Herbert Lawrence
Troth with the Dead
The moon is broken in twain, and half a moon Before me lies on the still, pale floor of the sky; The other half of the broken coin of troth Is buried away in
Liaison
A big bud of moon hangs out of the twilight, Star-spiders spinning their thread Hang high suspended, withouten respite Watching us overhead. Come then under the trees, where the leaf-cloths Curtain us in so
Craving for Spring
I wish it were spring in the world. Let it be spring! Come, bubbling, surging tide of sap! Come, rush of creation! Come, life! surge through this mass of mortification! Come, sweep away these
A Spiritual Woman
Close your eyes, my love, let me make you blind; They have taught you to see Only a mean arithmetic on the face of things, A cunning algebra in the faces of men, And
A Baby Asleep after Pain
As a drenched, drowned bee Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower, So clings to me My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears And laid against her cheek; Her soft white
The Gods! The Gods!
People were bathing and posturing themselves on the beach, And all was dreary, great robot limbs, robot breasts, Robot voices, robot even the gay umbrellas. But a woman, shy and alone, was washing herself
Brother and Sister
The shorn moon trembling indistinct on her path, Frail as a scar upon the pale blue sky, Draws towards the downward slope: some sorrow hath Worn her down to the quick, so she faintly
Scent of Irises
A faint, sickening scent of irises Persists all morning. Here in a jar on the table A fine proud spike of purple irises Rising above the class-room litter, makes me unable To see the
A Baby Running Barefoot
When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind, They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water; And the
Submergence
When along the pavement, Palpitating flames of life, People flicker round me, I forget my bereavement, The gap in the great constellation, The place where a star used to be. Nay, though the pole-star
The Elephant Is Slow To Mate
The elephant, the huge old beast, is slow to mate; He finds a female, they show no haste they wait For the sympathy in their vast shy hearts slowly, slowly to rouse As they
Drunk
Too far away, oh love, I know, To save me from this haunted road, Whose lofty roses break and blow On a night-sky bent with a load Of lights: each solitary rose, Each arc-lamp
Whales Weep Not!
They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains The hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent. All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge
Butterfly
Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward, strong beyond the garden-wall! Butterfly, why do you settle on my shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe, Lifting your veined wings, lifting them? big white butterfly! Already
Dreams Nascent
My world is a painted fresco, where coloured shapes Of old, ineffectual lives linger blurred and warm; An endless tapestry the past has women drapes The halls of my life, compelling my soul to