The Collected Poetry of D. H. Lawrence
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David Herbert Lawrence
David Herbert (D. H.) Lawrence was a prolific English novelist, essayist, poet, playwright, literary critic and painter. His most notable works include Lady Chatterley’s Lover, The Rainbow, Sons and Lovers and Women in Love.
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The Collected Poetry of D. H. Lawrence - David Herbert Lawrence
THE COLLECTED POETRY OF D. H. LAWRENCE
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Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-4750-2
EBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-4753-3
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CONTENTS
LOVE AND OTHER POEMS (1915)
WEDDING MORN
KISSES IN THE TRAIN
CRUELTY AND LOVE
CHERRY ROBBERS
LILIES IN THE FIRE
COLDNESS IN LOVE
END OF ANOTHER HOME-HOLIDAY
REMINDER
BEI HENNEF
LIGHTNING
SONG-DAY IN AUTUMN
AWARE
A PANG OF REMINISCENCE
A WHITE BLOSSOM
RED MOON-RISE
RETURN
THE APPEAL
REPULSED
DREAM-CONFUSED
COROT
MORNING WORK
RENASCENCE
DOG-TIRED
MICHAEL-ANGELO
VIOLETS
WHETHER OR NOT
A COLLIER'S WIFE
THE DRAINED CUP
THE SCHOOLMASTER
AMORES (1916)
TEASE
THE WILD COMMON
STUDY
DISCORD IN CHILDHOOD
VIRGIN YOUTH
MONOLOGUE OF A MOTHER
IN A BOAT
WEEK-NIGHT SERVICE
IRONY
DREAMS OLD AND NASCENT
OLD
NASCENT
A WINTER'S TALE
EPILOGUE
A BABY RUNNING BAREFOOT
DISCIPLINE
SCENT OF IRISES
THE PROPHET
LAST WORDS TO MIRIAM
MYSTERY
PATIENCE
BALLAD OF ANOTHER OPHELIA
RESTLESSNESS
A BABY ASLEEP AFTER PAIN
ANXIETY
THE PUNISHER
THE END
THE BRIDE
THE VIRGIN MOTHER
AT THE WINDOW
DRUNK
SORROW
DOLOR OF AUTUMN
THE INHERITANCE
SILENCE
LISTENING
BROODING GRIEF
LOTUS HURT BY THE COLD
MALADE
LIAISON
TROTH WITH THE DEAD
DISSOLUTE
SUBMERGENCE
THE ENKINDLED SPRING
REPROACH
THE HANDS OF THE BETROTHED
EXCURSION
PERFIDY
A SPIRITUAL WOMAN
MATING
A LOVE SONG
BROTHER AND SISTER
AFTER MANY DAYS
BLUE
SNAP-DRAGON
A PASSING BELL
IN TROUBLE AND SHAME
ELEGY
GREY EVENING
FIRELIGHT AND NIGHTFALL
THE MYSTIC BLUE
LOOK! WE HAVE COME THROUGH! (1917)
FOREWORD
ARGUMENT
MOONRISE
ELEGY
NONENTITY
MARTYR À LA MODE
DON JUAN
THE SEA
HYMN TO PRIAPUS
BALLAD OF A WILFUL WOMAN
FIRST MORNING
AND OH—THAT THE MAN I AM MIGHT CEASE TO BE—
SHE LOOKS BACK
ON THE BALCONY
FROHNLEICHNAM
IN THE DARK
MUTILATION
HUMILIATION
A YOUNG WIFE
GREEN
RIVER ROSES
GLOIRE DE DIJON
ROSES ON THE BREAKFAST TABLE
I AM LIKE A ROSE
ROSE OF ALL THE WORLD
A YOUTH MOWING
QUITE FORSAKEN
FORSAKEN AND FORLORN
FIREFLIES IN THE CORN
A DOE AT EVENING
SONG OF A MAN WHO IS NOT LOVED
SINNERS
MISERY
SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN ITALY
WINTER DAWN
A BAD BEGINNING
WHY DOES SHE WEEP?
GIORNO DEI MORTI
ALL SOULS
LADY WIFE
BOTH SIDES OF THE MEDAL
LOGGERHEADS
DECEMBER NIGHT
NEW YEAR'S EVE
NEW YEAR'S NIGHT
VALENTINE'S NIGHT
BIRTH NIGHT
RABBIT SNARED IN THE NIGHT
PARADISE RE-ENTERED
SPRING MORNING
WEDLOCK
HISTORY
SONG OF A MAN WHO HAS COME THROUGH
ONE WOMAN TO ALL WOMEN
PEOPLE
STREET LAMPS
SHE SAID AS WELL TO ME
NEW HEAVEN AND EARTH
ELYSIUM
MANIFESTO
AUTUMN RAIN
FROST FLOWERS
CRAVING FOR SPRING
NEW POEMS (1918)
APPREHENSION
COMING AWAKE
FROM A COLLEGE WINDOW
FLAPPER
BIRDCAGE WALK
LETTER FROM TOWN: THE ALMOND TREE
FLAT SUBURBS, S.W., IN THE MORNING
THIEF IN THE NIGHT
LETTER FROM TOWN: ON A GREY EVENING IN MARCH
SUBURBS ON A HAZY DAY
HYDE PARK AT NIGHT, BEFORE THE WAR
GIPSY
TWO-FOLD
UNDER THE OAK
SIGH NO MORE
LOVE STORM
PARLIAMENT HILL IN THE EVENING
PICCADILLY CIRCUS AT NIGHT
TARANTELLA
IN CHURCH
PIANO
EMBANKMENT AT NIGHT, BEFORE THE WAR
PHANTASMAGORIA
NEXT MORNING
PALIMPSEST OF TWILIGHT
EMBANKMENT AT NIGHT, BEFORE THE WAR
WINTER IN THE BOULEVARD
SCHOOL ON THE OUTSKIRTS
SICKNESS
EVERLASTING FLOWERS
THE NORTH COUNTRY
BITTERNESS OF DEATH
SEVEN SEALS
READING A LETTER
TWENTY YEARS AGO
INTIME
TWO WIVES
HEIMWEH
DÉBÂCLE
NARCISSUS
AUTUMN SUNSHINE
ON THAT DAY
BAY . . A BOOK OF . . POEMS (1919)
GUARDS!
EVOLUTIONS OF SOLDIERS
THE LITTLE TOWN AT EVENING
LAST HOURS
TOWN IN 1917
AFTER THE OPERA
GOING BACK
ON THE MARCH
BOMBARDMENT
WINTER-LULL
THE ATTACK
OBSEQUIAL ODE
SHADES
BREAD UPON THE WATERS
RUINATION
RONDEAU OF A CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTOR
TOMMIES IN THE TRAIN
WAR-BABY
NOSTALGIA
TORTOISES (1921)
BABY TORTOISE
TORTOISE-SHELL
TORTOISE FAMILY CONNECTIONS
LUI ET ELLE
TORTOISE GALLANTRY
TORTOISE SHOUT
LOVE AND OTHER POEMS (1915)
WEDDING MORN
The morning breaks like a pomegranate
In a shining crack of red,
Ah, when tomorrow the dawn comes late
Whitening across the bed,
It will find me watching at the marriage gate
And waiting while light is shed
On him who is sleeping satiate,
With a sunk, abandoned head.
And when the dawn comes creeping in,
Cautiously I shall raise
Myself to watch the morning win
My first of days,
As it shows him sleeping a sleep he got
Of me, as under my gaze,
He grows distinct, and I see his hot
Face freed of the wavering blaze.
Then I shall know which image of God
My man is made toward,
And I shall know my bitter rod
Or my rich reward.
And I shall know the stamp and worth
Of the coin I've accepted as mine,
Shall see an image of heaven or of earth
On his minted metal shine.
Yea and I long to see him sleep
In my power utterly,
I long to know what I have to keep,
I long to see
My love, that spinning coin, laid still
And plain at the side of me,
For me to count—for I know he will
Greatly enrichen me.
And then he will be mine, he will lie
In my power utterly,
Opening his value plain to my eye
He will sleep of me.
He will lie negligent, resign
His all to me, and I
Shall watch the dawn light up for me
This sleeping wealth of mine.
And I shall watch the wan light shine
On his sleep that is filled of me,
On his brow where the wisps of fond hair twine
So truthfully,
On his lips where the light breaths come and go
Naïve and winsomely,
On his limbs that I shall weep to know
Lie under my mastery.
KISSES IN THE TRAIN
I saw the midlands
Revolve through her hair;
The fields of autumn
Stretching bare,
And sheep on the pasture
Tossed back in a scare.
And still as ever
The world went round,
My mouth on her pulsing
Neck was found,
And my breast to her beating
Breast was bound.
But my heart at the centre
Of all, in a swound
Was still as a pivot,
As all the ground
On its prowling orbit
Shifted round.
And still in my nostrils
The scent of her flesh,
And still my wet mouth
Sought her afresh;
And still one pulse
Through the world did thresh.
And the world all whirling
Around in joy
Like the dance of a dervish
Did destroy
My sense—and my reason
Spun like a toy.
But firm at the centre
My heart was found;
Her own to my perfect
Heart-beat bound,
Like a magnet's keeper
Closing the round.
CRUELTY AND LOVE
What large, dark hands are those at the window
Lifted, grasping the golden light
Which weaves its way through the creeper leaves
To my heart's delight?
Ah, only the leaves! But in the west,
In the west I see a redness come
Over the evening's burning breast—
—'Tis the wound of love goes home!
The woodbine creeps abroad
Calling low to her lover:
The sun-lit flirt who all the day
Has poised above her lips in play
And stolen kisses, shallow and gay
Of pollen, now has gone away
—She woos the moth with her sweet, low word,
And when above her his broad wings hover
Then her bright breast she will uncover
And yield her honey-drop to her lover.
Into the yellow, evening glow
Saunters a man from the farm below,
Leans, and looks in at the low-built shed
Where hangs the swallow's marriage bed.
The bird lies warm against the wall.
She glances quick her startled eyes
Towards him, then she turns away
Her small head, making warm display
Of red upon the throat. His terrors sway
Her out of the nest's warm, busy ball,
Whose plaintive cry is heard as she flies
In one blue stoop from out the sties
Into the evening's empty hall.
Oh, water-hen, beside the rushes
Hide your quaint, unfading blushes,
Still your quick tail, and lie as dead,
Till the distance folds over his ominous tread.
The rabbit presses back her ears,
Turns back her liquid, anguished eyes
And crouches low: then with wild spring
Spurts from the terror of his oncoming
To be choked back, the wire ring
Her frantic effort throttling:
Piteous brown ball of quivering fears!
Ah soon in his large, hard hands she dies,
And swings all loose to the swing of his walk.
Yet calm and kindly are his eyes
And ready to open in brown surprise
Should I not answer to his talk
Or should he my tears surmise.
I hear his hand on the latch, and rise from my chair
Watching the door open: he flashes bare
His strong teeth in a smile, and flashes his eyes
In a smile like triumph upon me; then careless-wise
He flings the rabbit soft on the table board
And comes towards me: ah, the uplifted sword
Of his hand against my bosom, and oh, the broad
Blade of his hand that raises my face to applaud
His coming: he raises up my face to him
And caresses my mouth with his fingers, which still smell grim
Of the rabbit's fur! God, I am caught in a snare!
I know not what fine wire is round my throat,
I only know I let him finger there
My pulse of life, letting him nose like a stoat
Who sniffs with joy before he drinks the blood:
And down his mouth comes to my mouth, and down
His dark bright eyes descend like a fiery hood
Upon my mind: his mouth meets mine, and a flood
Of sweet fire sweeps across me, so I drown
Within him, die, and find death good.
CHERRY ROBBERS
Under the long, dark boughs, like jewels red
In the hair of an Eastern girl
Shine strings of crimson cherries, as if had bled
Blood-drops beneath each curl.
Under the glistening cherries, with folded wings
Three dead birds lie:
Pale-breasted throstles and a blackbird, robberlings
Stained with red dye.
Under the haystack a girl stands laughing at me,
With cherries hung round her ears—
Offering me her scarlet fruit: I will see
If she has any tears.
LILIES IN THE FIRE
I
Ah, you stack of white lilies, all white and gold,
A am adrift as a sunbeam, and without form
Or having, save I light on you to warm
Your pallor into radiance, flush your cold
White beauty into incandescence: you
Are not a stack of white lilies tonight, but a white
And clustered star transfigured by me tonight,
And lighting these ruddy leaves like a star dropped through
The slender bare arms of the branches, your tire-maidens
Who lift swart arms to fend me off; but I come
Like a wind of fire upon you, like to some
Stray whitebeam who on you his fire unladens.
And you are a glistening toadstool shining here
Among the crumpled beech-leaves phosphorescent,
My stack of white lilies burning incandescent
Of me, a soft white star among the leaves, my dear.
II
Is it with pain, my dear, that you shudder so?
Is it because I have hurt you with pain, my dear?
Did I shiver?—Nay, truly I did not know—
A dewdrop may-be splashed on my face down here.
Why even now you speak through close-shut teeth,
I have been too much for you—Ah, I remember!
The ground is a little chilly underneath
The leaves—and, dear, you consume me all to an ember.
You hold yourself all hard as if my kisses
Hurt as I gave them—you put me away—
Ah never I put you away: yet each kiss hisses
Hot as a drop of fire wastes me away.
III
I am ashamed, you wanted me not to-night—
Nay, it is always so, you sigh with me.
Your radiance dims when I draw too near, and my free
Fire enters your petals like death, you wilt dead white.
Ah, I do know, and I am deep ashamed;
You love me while I hover tenderly
Like clinging sunbeams kissing you: but see
When I close in fire upon you, and you are flamed
With the swiftest fire of my love, you are destroyed.
'Tis a degradation deep to me, that my best
Soul's whitest lightning which should bright attest
God stepping down to earth in one white stride,
Means only to you a clogged, numb burden of flesh
Heavy to bear, even heavy to uprear
Again from earth, like lilies wilted and sere
Flagged on the floor, that before stood up so fresh.
COLDNESS IN LOVE
And you remember, in the afternoon
The sea and the sky went grey, as if there had sunk
A flocculent dust on the floor of the world: the festoon
Of the sky sagged dusty as spider cloth,
And coldness clogged the sea, till it ceased to croon.
A dank, sickening scent came up from the grime
Of weed that blackened the shore, so that I recoiled
Feeling the raw cold dun me: and all the time
You leapt about on the slippery rocks, and threw
The words that rang with a brassy, shallow chime.
And all day long that raw and ancient cold
Deadened me through, till the grey downs darkened to sleep.
Then I longed for you with your mantle of love to fold
Me over, and drive from out of my body the deep
Cold that had sunk to my soul, and there kept hold.
But still to me all evening long you were cold,
And I was numb with a bitter, deathly ache;
Till old days drew me back into their fold,
And dim sheep crowded me warm with companionship,
And old ghosts clustered me close, and sleep was cajoled.
I slept till dawn at the window blew in like dust,
Like the linty, raw-cold dust disturbed from the floor
Of a disused room: a grey pale light like must
That settled upon my face and hands till it seemed
To flourish there, as pale mould blooms on a crust.
Then I rose in fear, needing you fearfully,
For I thought you were warm as a sudden jet of blood.
I thought I could plunge in your spurting hotness, and be
Clean of the cold and the must.—With my hand on the latch
I heard you in your sleep speak strangely to me.
And I dared not enter, feeling suddenly dismayed.
So I went and washed my deadened flesh in the sea
And came back tingling clean, but worn and frayed
With cold, like the shell of the moon: and strange it seems
That my love has dawned in rose again, like the love of a maid.
END OF ANOTHER HOME-HOLIDAY
When shall I see the half-moon sink again
Behind the black sycamore at the end of the garden?
When will the scent of the dim white phlox
Creep up the wall to me, and in at my open window?
Why is it, the long, slow stroke of the midnight bell
(Will it never finish the twelve?)
Falls again and again on my heart with a heavy reproach?
The moon-mist is over the village, out of the mist speaks the bell,
And all the