D. H. Lawrence

“ Of a trail of the great fire against the sky
Where we can see it, a jet from the innermost fire:
And even in the watery shells that lie
Alive within the cozy under-mire,
A grain of this same fire I can descry.
And then within the screaming birds that fly
Across the lightning when the storm leaps higher;
And then the swirling, flaming folk that try
To come like fire-flames at their fierce desire,
They are as earth’s dread, spurting flames that ply
Awhile and gush forth death and then expire. ”

“ Clear upon the long-drawn hoarseness of a train across the valley.
The light has gone out from under my mother’s door.
That she should love me so,
She, so lonely, greying now,
And I leaving her,
Bent on my pursuits!
Love is the great Asker,
The sun and the rain do not ask the secret
Of the time when the grain struggles down in the dark. [p. xiv]
The moon walks her lonely way without anguish,
Because no loved one grieves over her departure. ”

“ Them an answer back. It is more than I can bear.
The snow descends as if the dull sky shook [p. lx]
In flakes of shadow down; and through the gap
Between the ruddy schools sweeps one black rook.
The rough snowball in the playground stands huge and still
With fair flakes settling down on it.—Beyond, the town
Is lost in the shadowed silence the skies distil.
And all things are possessed by silence, and they can brood
Wrapped up in the sky’s dim space of hoarse silence
Earnestly—and oh for me this class is a bitter rood. ”

“ A tiny moon as white and small as a single jasmine flower
Leans all alone above my window, on night’s wintry bower,
Liquid as lime-tree blossom, soft as brilliant water or rain
She shines, the one white love of my youth, which all sin cannot stain. ”

“ Helen, I am despoiled of my pride, and my soul turns fond:
Overhead the nightly heavens like an open, immense eye,
Like a cat’s distended pupil sparkles with sudden stars,
As with thoughts that flash and crackle in uncouth malignancy
They glitter at me, and I fear the fierce snapping of night’s thought-stars.
Beyond me, up the darkness, goes the gush of the lights of two towns,
As the breath which rushes upwards from the nostrils of an immense
Life crouched across the globe, ready, if need be, to pounce
Across the space upon heaven’s high hostile eminence. ”

“ As He silently sweeps to His somewhere, his goal,
Is heard in the grass of the sod.
Is heard in the windless whisper of leaves
In the silent labours of men in the fields,
In the downward dropping of flimsy sheaves
Of cloud the rain skies yield.
In the tapping haste of a fallen leaf,
In the flapping of red-roof smoke, and the small
Foot-stepping tap of men beneath
These trees so huge and tall. ”

“ Thine shall go to pay the woman, an’ wi’ my bit we’ll buy
All as we shall want for furniture when tha leaves this place,
An’ we’ll be married at th’ registrar—now lift thy face.
Lift thy face an’ look at me, man, up an’ look at me:
Sorry I am for this business, an’ sorry if I ha’e driven thee
To such a thing: but it’s a poor tale, that I’m bound to say, [p. lii]
Before I can ta’e thee I’ve got a widow of forty-five to pay.
Dunnat thee think but what I love thee—I love thee well,
But ’deed an’ I wish as this tale o’ thine wor niver my tale to tell ”

“ Runs seeking a loneliness.
The little grain draws down the earth to hide.
Nay, even the slumberous egg, as it labours under the shell, [p. xv]
Patiently to divide, and self-divide,
Asks to be hidden, and wishes nothing to tell.
But when I draw the scanty cloak of silence over my eyes,
Piteous Love comes peering under the hood.
Touches the clasp with trembling fingers, and tries
To put her ear to the painful sob of my blood,
While her tears soak through to my breast,
Where they burn and cauterise.
III
The moon lies back and reddens. ”

“ I’ th’ snow: but I’s warrant thee, bunny,
I’m further ower th’ top.
V
Now sithee theer at th’ railroad crossin’
Warmin’ his-sen at the stool o’ fire
Under the tank as fills the ingines,
If there isn’t my dearly-beloved liar!
My constable wi’ ’is buttoned breast
As stout as the truth, my sirs!—An’ ’is face
As bold as a robin! It’s much he cares [p. xlvii]
For this nice old shame and disgrace.
Oh but he drops his flag when ’e sees me,
Yes, an’ ’is face goes white ... oh yes
Tha can stare at me wi’ thy fierce blue eyes,
But tha doesna stare me out, I guess! ”

“ What a trapse it is if a man gets hurt—
I s’d think he’ll get right again.
THE DRAINED CUP [p. lvi]
The snow is witherin’ off’n th’ gress
Love, should I tell thee summat?
The snow is witherin’ off’n th’ gress
An’ a thick mist sucks at the clots o’ snow,
An’ the moon above in a weddin’ dress
Goes fogged an’ slow—
Love, should I tell thee summat?
Tha’s been snowed up i’ this cottage wi’ me,
Nay, I’m tellin’ thee summat.—
Tha’s bin snowed up i’ this cottage wi’ me
While th’ clocks has a’ run down an’ stopped
An’ the short days withering silently
Unbeknown have dropped. ”

“ Deed an’ I wish as I could stood at the altar wi’ thee an’ been proud o’ thee,
That I could ha’ been first woman to thee, as thou’rt first man to me.
But we maun ma’e the best on’t—I’ll rear thy childt if ’er’ll yield it to me,
An’ then wi’ that twenty pound we gi’e ’er I s’d think ’er wunna be
So very much worser off than ’er wor before—An’ now look up
An’ answer me—for I’ve said my say, an’ there’s no more sorrow to sup.
Yi, tha’rt a man, tha’rt a fine big man, but niver a baby had eyes
As sulky an’ ormin’ as thine. Hast owt to say otherwise
From what I’ve arranged wi’ thee? ”

“ Dunna thee tell me its his’n, mother,
Dunna thee, dunna thee.
—Oh ay! he’ll be comin’ to tell thee his-sèn
Wench, wunna he?
Tha doesna mean to say to me, mother,
He’s gone wi that—
—My gel, owt’ll do for a man i’ the dark,
Tha’s got it flat.
But ’er’s old, mother, ’er’s twenty year
Older nor him—
—Ay, an’ yaller as a crowflower, an’ yet i’ the dark
Er’d do for Tim.
Tha niver believes it, mother, does ter?
It’s somebody’s lies. ”

“ 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 [p. ix]
I
Ah, you stack of white lilies, all white and gold,
I am adrift as a sunbeam, and without form
Or having, save I light on you to warm
Your pallor into radiance, flush your cold ”

“ Look, for I’m showin’ thee summat.
An’ if it worn’t for the mist, tha’d see
The great black wood on all sides o’ thee
Wi’ the little pads going cunningly
To ravel thee.
So listen, I’m tellin’ thee summat.
When tha comes to the beechen avenue,
I’m warnin’ thee o’ summat.
Mind tha shall keep inwards, a few
Steps to the right, for the gravel pits
Are steep an’ deep wi’ watter, an’ you
Are scarce o’ your wits. ”

“ That shines blood-red beside the railway siding
Seem to be making out of the blue of the morning
Something faery and fine, the shuttles sliding,
The red-gold spools of their hands and faces shuttling
Hither and thither across the morn’s crystalline frame
Of blue: trolls at the cave of ringing cerulean mining,
And laughing with work, living their work like a game.
TRANSFORMATIONS [p. xxxvi]
I
The Town
Oh you stiff shapes, swift transformation seethes
About you: only last night you were
A Sodom smouldering in the dense, soiled air ”