D. H. Lawrence,
Love Poems and Others
“ As He silently sweeps to His somewhere, his goal, Is heard in the grass of the sod. Is heard in the windless whisper of leavesIn 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 smallFoot-stepping tap of men beneath These trees so huge and tall. ”
