D. H. Lawrence
Amores: Poems
Published by Good Press, 2022
EAN 4057664641113
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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
DREAMS OLD AND NASCENT
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
THE WILD COMMON
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THE quick sparks on the gorse bushes are leaping, Little jets of sunlight-texture imitating flame; Above them, exultant, the pee-wits are sweeping: They are lords of the desolate wastes of sadness their screamings proclaim. Rabbits, handfuls of brown earth, lie Low-rounded on the mournful grass they have bitten down to the quick. Are they asleep?—Are they alive?—Now see, when I Move my arms the hill bursts and heaves under their spurting kick. The common flaunts bravely; but below, from the rushes Crowds of glittering king-cups surge to challenge the blossoming bushes; There the lazy streamlet pushes Its curious course mildly; here it wakes again, leaps, laughs, and gushes. Into a deep pond, an old sheep-dip, Dark, overgrown with willows, cool, with the brook ebbing through so slow, Naked on the steep, soft lip Of the bank I stand watching my own white shadow quivering to and fro. What if the gorse flowers shrivelled and kissing were lost? Without the pulsing waters, where were the marigolds and the songs of the brook? If my veins and my breasts with love embossed Withered, my insolent soul would be gone like flowers that the hot wind took. So my soul like a passionate woman turns, Filled with remorseful terror to the man she scorned, and her love For myself in my own eyes' laughter burns, Runs ecstatic over the pliant folds rippling down to my belly from the breast-lights above. Over my sunlit skin the warm, clinging air, Rich with the songs of seven larks singing at once, goes kissing me glad. And the soul of the wind and my blood compare Their wandering happiness, and the wind, wasted in liberty, drifts on and is sad. Oh but the water loves me and folds me, Plays with me, sways me, lifts me and sinks me as though it were living blood, Blood of a heaving woman who holds me, Owning my supple body a rare glad thing, supremely good.
STUDY
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SOMEWHERE the long mellow note of the blackbird Quickens the unclasping hands of hazel, Somewhere the wind-flowers fling their heads back, Stirred by an impetuous wind. Some ways'll All be sweet with white and blue violet. (Hush now, hush. Where am I?—Biuret—) On the green wood's edge a shy girl hovers From out of the hazel-screen on to the grass, Where wheeling and screaming the petulant plovers Wave frighted. Who comes? A labourer, alas! Oh the sunset swims in her eyes' swift pool. (Work, work, you fool—!) Somewhere the lamp hanging low from the ceiling Lights the soft hair of a girl as she reads, And the red firelight steadily wheeling Weaves the hard hands of my friend in sleep. And the white dog snuffs the warmth, appealing For the man to heed lest the girl shall weep. (Tears and dreams for them; for me Bitter science—the exams. are near. I wish I bore it more patiently. I wish you did not wait, my dear, For me to come: since work I must: Though it's all the same when we are dead.— I wish I was only a bust, All head.)
DISCORD IN CHILDHOOD
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OUTSIDE the house an ash-tree hung its terrible whips, And at night when the wind arose, the lash of the tree Shrieked and slashed the wind, as a ship's Weird rigging in a storm shrieks hideously. Within the house two voices arose in anger, a slender lash Whistling delirious rage, and the dreadful sound Of a thick lash booming and bruising, until it drowned The other voice in a silence of blood, 'neath the noise of the ash.
VIRGIN YOUTH
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