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

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fists suppressed in the folds of her

       skirt;

       And sometimes, how she grasps her arms with her

       bright

       Big hands, as if surely her arms did hurt.

       And I have seen her stand all unaware

       Pressing her spread hands over her breasts, as she

       Would crush their mounds on her heart, to kill in

       there

       The pain that is her simple ache for me.

       Her strong hands take my part, the part of a man

       To her; she crushes them into her bosom deep

       Where I should lie, and with her own strong

       span

       Closes her arms, that should fold me in sleep.

       Ah, and she puts her hands upon the wall,

       Presses them there, and kisses her bright hands,

       Then lets her black hair loose, the darkness fall

       About her from her maiden-folded bands.

       And sits in her own dark night of her bitter hair

       Dreaming—God knows of what, for to me she's

       the same

       Betrothed young lady who loves me, and takes care

       Of her womanly virtue and of my good name.

      Excursion

       Table of Contents

      I wonder, can the night go by;

       Can this shot arrow of travel fly

       Shaft-golden with light, sheer into the sky

       Of a dawned to-morrow,

       Without ever sleep delivering us

       From each other, or loosing the dolorous

       Unfruitful sorrow!

       What is it then that you can see

       That at the window endlessly

       You watch the red sparks whirl and flee

       And the night look through?

       Your presence peering lonelily there

       Oppresses me so, I can hardly bear

       To share the train with you.

       You hurt my heart-beats' privacy;

       I wish I could put you away from me;

       I suffocate in this intimacy,

       For all that I love you;

       How I have longed for this night in the train,

       Yet now every fibre of me cries in pain

       To God to remove you.

       But surely my soul's best dream is still

       That one night pouring down shall swill

       Us away in an utter sleep, until

       We are one, smooth-rounded.

       Yet closely bitten in to me

       Is this armour of stiff reluctancy

       That keeps me impounded.

       So, dear love, when another night

       Pours on us, lift your fingers white

       And strip me naked, touch me light,

       Light, light all over.

       For I ache most earnestly for your touch,

       Yet I cannot move, however much

       I would be your lover.

       Night after night with a blemish of day

       Unblown and unblossomed has withered away;

       Come another night, come a new night, say

       Will you pluck me apart?

       Will you open the amorous, aching bud

       Of my body, and loose the burning flood

       That would leap to you from my heart?

      Perfidy

       Table of Contents

      Hollow rang the house when I knocked on the door,

       And I lingered on the threshold with my hand

       Upraised to knock and knock once more:

       Listening for the sound of her feet across the floor,

       Hollow re-echoed my heart.

       The low-hung lamps stretched down the road

       With shadows drifting underneath,

       With a music of soft, melodious feet

       Quickening my hope as I hastened to meet

       The low-hung light of her eyes.

       The golden lamps down the street went out,

       The last car trailed the night behind;

       And I in the darkness wandered about

       With a flutter of hope and of dark-shut doubt

       In the dying lamp of my love.

       Two brown ponies trotting slowly

       Stopped at a dim-lit trough to drink:

       The dark van drummed down the distance slowly;

       While the city stars so dim and holy

       Drew nearer to search through the streets.

       A hastening car swept shameful past,

       I saw her hid in the shadow,

       I saw her step to the curb, and fast

       Run to the silent door, where last

       I had stood with my hand uplifted.

       She clung to the door in her haste to enter,

       Entered, and quickly cast

       It shut behind her, leaving the street aghast.

      A Spiritual Woman

       Table of Contents

      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 God like geometry

       Completing his circles, and working cleverly.

       I'll kiss you over the eyes till I kiss you blind;

       If I can—if any one could.

       Then perhaps in the dark you'll have got what you

       want to find.

       You've discovered so many bits, with your clever

       eyes,

       And I'm a kaleidoscope

       That you shake and shake, and yet it won't come to

       your mind.

       Now stop carping at me.—But God, how I hate you!

       Do you fear I shall swindle you?

       Do you think if you take me as I am, that that will

      

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