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

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There will something come forth from us. Children, acts, utterance Perhaps only happiness. Perhaps only happiness will come forth from us. Old sorrow, and new happiness. Only that one newness. But that is all I want. And I am sure of that. We are sure of that. VI AND yet all the while you are you, you are not me. And I am I, I am never you. How awfully distinct and far off from each other's being we are! Yet I am glad. I am so glad there is always you beyond my scope, Something that stands over, Something I shall never be, That I shall always wonder over, and wait for, Look for like the breath of life as long as I live, Still waiting for you, however old you are, and I am, I shall always wonder over you, and look for you. And you will always be with me. I shall never cease to be filled with newness, Having you near me.

      History

       Table of Contents

      THE listless beauty of the hour

       When snow fell on the apple trees

       And the wood-ash gathered in the fire

       And we faced our first miseries.

       Then the sweeping sunshine of noon

       When the mountains like chariot cars

       Were ranked to blue battle—and you and I

       Counted our scars.

       And then in a strange, grey hour

       We lay mouth to mouth, with your face

       Under mine like a star on the lake,

       And I covered the earth, and all space.

       The silent, drifting hours

       Of morn after morn

       And night drifting up to the night

       Yet no pathway worn.

       Your life, and mine, my love

       Passing on and on, the hate

       Fusing closer and closer with love

       Till at length they mate.

       THE CEARNE

      SONG OF A MAN WHO HAS COME THROUGH NOT I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time. If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me! If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift! If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed By the fine, fine wind that takes its course through the chaos of the world Like a fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted; If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge Driven by invisible blows, The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides. Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul, I would be a good fountain, a good well-head, Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression. What is the knocking? What is the knocking at the door in the night? It is somebody wants to do us harm. No, no, it is the three strange angels. Admit them, admit them.

      One Woman to All Women

       Table of Contents

      I DON'T care whether I am beautiful to you

       You other women.

       Nothing of me that you see is my own;

       A man balances, bone unto bone

       Balances, everything thrown

       In the scale, you other women.

       You may look and say to yourselves, I do

       Not show like the rest.

       My face may not please you, nor my stature; yet

       if you knew

       How happy I am, how my heart in the wind rings

       true

       Like a bell that is chiming, each stroke as a stroke

       falls due,

       You other women:

       You would draw your mirror towards you, you

       would wish

       To be different.

       There's the beauty you cannot see, myself and

       him

       Balanced in glorious equilibrium,

       The swinging beauty of equilibrium,

       You other women.

       There's this other beauty, the way of the stars

       You straggling women.

       If you knew how I swerve in peace, in the equipoise

       With the man, if you knew how my flesh enjoys

       The swinging bliss no shattering ever destroys

       You other women:

       You would envy me, you would think me wonderful

       Beyond compare;

       You would weep to be lapsing on such harmony

       As carries me, you would wonder aloud that he

       Who is so strange should correspond with me

       Everywhere.

       You see he is different, he is dangerous,

       Without pity or love.

       And yet how his separate being liberates me

       And gives me peace! You cannot see

       How the stars are moving in surety

       Exquisite, high above.

       We move without knowing, we sleep, and we

       travel on,

       You other women.

       And this is beauty to me, to be lifted and gone

       In a motion human inhuman, two and one

       Encompassed, and many reduced to none,

       You other women.

       KENSINGTON

      People

       Table of Contents

      THE great gold apples of night

       Hang from the street's long bough

       Dripping their light

       On the faces that drift below,

       On the faces that drift and blow

       Down the night-time, out of sight

       In the wind's sad sough.

       The ripeness of these apples of night

       Distilling over me

       Makes sickening the white

       Ghost-flux of faces that hie

       Them endlessly, endlessly by

       Without meaning or reason why

       They ever should be.

      Street Lamps

       Table of Contents

      GOLD, with an innermost speck

       Of silver, singing afloat

       Beneath the night,

       Like balls of thistle-down

       Wandering up and down

       Over the whispering town

      

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