Piccadilly Circus at Night / D.H. Lawrence

Street-Walkers

When into the night the yellow light is roused like dust above the towns, 

Or like a mist the moon has kissed from off a pool in the midst of the downs, 

Our faces flower for a little hour pale and uncertain along the street, 

Daisies that waken all mistaken white-spread in expectancy to meet 

Piano / D.H. Lawrence

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me; 

Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see 

A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings 

And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings. 

Phantasmagoria / D.H. Lawrence

Rigid sleeps the house in darkness, I alone 

Like a thing unwarrantable cross the hall 

And climb the stairs to find the group of doors 

Standing angel-stern and tall. 

Perfidy / D.H. Lawrence

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. 

Patience / D.H. Lawrence

A wind comes from the north 

Blowing little flocks of birds 

Like spray across the town, 

And a train, roaring forth, 

Rushes stampeding down 

With cries and flying curds 

Of steam, out of the darkening north. 

Parliament Hill in the Evening / D.H. Lawrence

The houses fade in a melt of mist 

Blotching the thick, soiled air 

With reddish places that still resist 

The Night's slow care. 

Palimpsest of Twilight / D.H. Lawrence

Darkness comes out of the earth 

And swallows dip into the pallor of the west; 

From the hay comes the clamour of children's mirth; 

Wanes the old palimpsest. 

On That Day / D.H. Lawrence

On that day 

I shall put roses on roses, and cover your grave 

With multitude of white roses: and since you were brave 

One bright red ray. 

Next Morning / D.H. Lawrence

How have I wandered here to this vaulted room 

In the house of life?--the floor was ruffled with gold 

Last evening, and she who was softly in bloom, 

Glimmered as flowers that in perfume at twilight unfold 

Narcissus / D.H. Lawrence

Where the minnows trace 

A glinting web quick hid in the gloom of the brook, 

When I think of the place 

And remember the small lad lying intent to look 

Through the shadowy face 

At the little fish thread-threading the watery nook-- 

Mystery / D.H. Lawrence

Now I am all 

One bowl of kisses, 

Such as the tall 

Slim votaresses 

Of Egypt filled 

For a God's excesses. 

Monologue of a Mother / D.H. Lawrence

This is the last of all, this is the last! 

I must hold my hands, and turn my face to the fire, 

I must watch my dead days fusing together in dross, 

Shape after shape, and scene after scene from my past 

Fusing to one dead mass in the sinking fire 

Where the ash on the dying coals grows swiftly, like heavy moss. 

Mating / D.H. Lawrence

Round clouds roll in the arms of the wind, 

The round earth rolls in a clasp of blue sky, 

And see, where the budding hazels are thinned, 

The wild anemones lie 

In undulating shivers beneath the wind. 

Malade / D.H. Lawrence

The sick grapes on the chair by the bed lie prone; at the window 

The tassel of the blind swings gently, tapping the pane, 

As a little wind comes in. 

The room is the hollow rind of a fruit, a gourd 

Scooped out and dry, where a spider, 

Folded in its legs as in a bed, 

Lies on the dust, watching where is nothing to see but twilight and walls. 

Love Storm / D.H. Lawrence

Many roses in the wind 

Are tapping at the window-sash. 

A hawk is in the sky; his wings 

Slowly begin to plash. 

Lotus Hurt by the Cold / D.H. Lawrence

How many times, like lotus lilies risen 

Upon the surface of a river, there 

Have risen floating on my blood the rare 

Soft glimmers of my hope escaped from prison. 

Listening / D.H. Lawrence

I listed to the stillness of you, 

My dear, among it all; 

I feel your silence touch my words as I talk, 

And take them in thrall. 

Liaison / D.H. Lawrence

A big bud of moon hangs out of the twilight, 

Star-spiders spinning their thread 

Hang high suspended, withouten respite 

Watching us overhead. 

Letter from Town: The Almond Tree / D.H. Lawrence

You promised to send me some violets. Did you forget? 

White ones and blue ones from under the orchard hedge? 

Sweet dark purple, and white ones mixed for a pledge 

Of our early love that hardly has opened yet. 

Letter from Town: On a Grey Evening in March / D.H. Lawrence

The clouds are pushing in grey reluctance slowly northward to you, 

While north of them all, at the farthest ends, stands one bright-bosomed, aglance 

With fire as it guards the wild north cloud-coasts, red-fire seas running through 

The rocks where ravens flying to windward melt as a well-shot lance.