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diff --git a/23394-h/23394-h.htm b/23394-h/23394-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..70917b2 --- /dev/null +++ b/23394-h/23394-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4494 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Look! We Have Come Through!, by D. H. Lawrence</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + pre { font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Look! We Have Come Through!, by D. H. Lawrence</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Look! We Have Come Through!</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: D. H. Lawrence</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 7, 2007 [eBook #23394]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 28, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Lewis Jones</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOOK! WE HAVE COME THROUGH! ***</div> + +<h1>LOOK! WE HAVE COME THROUGH!</h1> + + <h2> + By D. H. Lawrence + </h2> + <h4> + Chatto & Windus: London, MCMXVII + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + Some of these poems have appeared in the "English Review" and in "Poetry," + also in the "Georgian Anthology" and the "Imagist Anthology" + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_FORE"> FOREWORD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ARGUMENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <i>ELEGY</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> <i>NONENTITY</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> <i>MARTYR À LA MODE</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> <i>DON JUAN</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> <i>THE SEA</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> <i>HYMN TO PRIAPUS</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> <i>BALLAD OF A WILFUL WOMAN</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> <i>FIRST MORNING</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <i>SHE LOOKS BACK</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> <i>ON THE BALCONY</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> <i>FROHNLEICHNAM</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> <i>IN THE DARK</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> <i>HUMILIATION</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> <i>GREEN</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> <i>RIVER ROSES</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> <i>GLOIRE DE DIJON</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> <i>ROSE OF ALL THE WORLD</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> <i>QUITE FORSAKEN</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> <i>FORSAKEN AND FORLORN</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> <i>FIREFLIES IN THE CORN</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> <i>SINNERS</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> <i>MISERY</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> <i>WINTER DAWN</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> <i>WHY DOES SHE WEEP?</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> <i>GIORNO DEI MORTI</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> <i>ALL SOULS</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> <i>LADY WIFE</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> <i>BOTH SIDES OF THE MEDAL</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> <i>LOGGERHEADS</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> <i>DECEMBER NIGHT</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> <i>NEW YEAR'S EVE</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> <i>NEW YEAR'S NIGHT</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> <i>VALENTINE'S NIGHT</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> <i>BIRTH NIGHT</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> <i>RABBIT SNARED IN THE NIGHT</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> <i>PARADISE RE-ENTERED</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> <i>SPRING MORNING</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> <i>WEDLOCK</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> <i>HISTORY</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> <i>ONE WOMAN TO ALL WOMEN</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> <i>PEOPLE</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> <i>STREET LAMPS</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> <i>NEW HEAVEN AND EARTH</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> <i>ELYSIUM</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> <i>MANIFESTO</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> <i>AUTUMN RAIN</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> <i>FROST FLOWERS</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> <i>CRAVING FOR SPRING</i> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_FORE" id="link2H_FORE"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FOREWORD + </h2> + <p> + THESE poems should not be considered separately, as so many single pieces. + They are intended as an essential story, or history, or confession, + unfolding one from the other in organic development, the whole revealing + the intrinsic experience of a man during the crisis of manhood, when he + marries and comes into himself. The period covered is, roughly, the sixth + lustre of a man's life + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ARGUMENT + </h2> + <p> + <i>After much struggling and loss in love and in the world of man, the + protagonist throws in his lot with a woman who is already married. + Together they go into another country, she perforce leaving her children + behind. The conflict of love and hate goes on between the man and the + woman, and between these two and the world around them, till it reaches + some sort of conclusion, they transcend into some condition of blessedness</i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + <i>MOONRISE</i> + + AND who has seen the moon, who has not seen + Her rise from out the chamber of the deep, + Flushed and grand and naked, as from the chamber + Of finished bridegroom, seen her rise and throw + Confession of delight upon the wave, + Littering the waves with her own superscription + Of bliss, till all her lambent beauty shakes towards + us + Spread out and known at last, and we are sure + That beauty is a thing beyond the grave, + That perfect, bright experience never falls + To nothingness, and time will dim the moon + Sooner than our full consummation here + In this odd life will tarnish or pass away. + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>ELEGY</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE sun immense and rosy + Must have sunk and become extinct + The night you closed your eyes for ever against me. + + Grey days, and wan, dree dawnings + Since then, with fritter of flowers— + Day wearies me with its ostentation and fawnings. + + Still, you left me the nights, + The great dark glittery window, + The bubble hemming this empty existence with + lights. + + Still in the vast hollow + Like a breath in a bubble spinning + Brushing the stars, goes my soul, that skims the + bounds like a swallow! + + I can look through + The film of the bubble night, to where you are. + Through the film I can almost touch you. + + EASTWOOD +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>NONENTITY</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE stars that open and shut + Fall on my shallow breast + Like stars on a pool. + + The soft wind, blowing cool + Laps little crest after crest + Of ripples across my breast. + + And dark grass under my feet + Seems to dabble in me + Like grass in a brook. + + Oh, and it is sweet + To be all these things, not to be + Any more myself. + + For look, + I am weary of myself! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>MARTYR À LA MODE</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AH God, life, law, so many names you keep, + You great, you patient Effort, and you Sleep + That does inform this various dream of living, + You sleep stretched out for ever, ever giving + Us out as dreams, you august Sleep + Coursed round by rhythmic movement of all + time, + + The constellations, your great heart, the sun + Fierily pulsing, unable to refrain; + Since you, vast, outstretched, wordless Sleep + Permit of no beyond, ah you, whose dreams + We are, and body of sleep, let it never be said + I quailed at my appointed function, turned poltroon + + For when at night, from out the full surcharge + Of a day's experience, sleep does slowly draw + The harvest, the spent action to itself; + Leaves me unburdened to begin again; + At night, I say, when I am gone in sleep, + Does my slow heart rebel, do my dead hands + Complain of what the day has had them do? + + Never let it be said I was poltroon + At this my task of living, this my dream, + This me which rises from the dark of sleep + In white flesh robed to drape another dream, + As lightning comes all white and trembling + From out the cloud of sleep, looks round about + One moment, sees, and swift its dream is over, + In one rich drip it sinks to another sleep, + And sleep thereby is one more dream enrichened. + + If so the Vast, the God, the Sleep that still grows + richer + Have said that I, this mote in the body of sleep + Must in my transiency pass all through pain, + Must be a dream of grief, must like a crude + Dull meteorite flash only into light + When tearing through the anguish of this life, + Still in full flight extinct, shall I then turn + Poltroon, and beg the silent, outspread God + To alter my one speck of doom, when round me + burns + The whole great conflagration of all life, + Lapped like a body close upon a sleep, + Hiding and covering in the eternal Sleep + Within the immense and toilsome life-time, + heaved + With ache of dreams that body forth the Sleep? + + Shall I, less than the least red grain of flesh + Within my body, cry out to the dreaming soul + That slowly labours in a vast travail, + To halt the heart, divert the streaming flow + That carries moons along, and spare the stress + That crushes me to an unseen atom of fire? + + When pain and all + And grief are but the same last wonder, Sleep + Rising to dream in me a small keen dream + Of sudden anguish, sudden over and spent— + + CROYDON +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>DON JUAN</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IT is Isis the mystery + Must be in love with me. + + Here this round ball of earth + Where all the mountains sit + Solemn in groups, + And the bright rivers flit + Round them for girth. + + Here the trees and troops + Darken the shining grass, + And many people pass + Plundered from heaven, + Many bright people pass, + Plunder from heaven. + + What of the mistresses + What the beloved seven? + —They were but witnesses, + I was just driven. + + Where is there peace for me? + Isis the mystery + Must be in love with me. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>THE SEA</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You, you are all unloving, loveless, you; + Restless and lonely, shaken by your own moods, + You are celibate and single, scorning a comrade even, + Threshing your own passions with no woman for + the threshing-floor, + Finishing your dreams for your own sake only, + Playing your great game around the world, alone, + Without playmate, or helpmate, having no one to + cherish, + No one to comfort, and refusing any comforter. + + Not like the earth, the spouse all full of increase + Moiled over with the rearing of her many-mouthed + young; + You are single, you are fruitless, phosphorescent, + cold and callous, + Naked of worship, of love or of adornment, + Scorning the panacea even of labour, + Sworn to a high and splendid purposelessness + Of brooding and delighting in the secret of life's + goings, + Sea, only you are free, sophisticated. + + You who toil not, you who spin not, + Surely but for you and your like, toiling + Were not worth while, nor spinning worth the + effort! + + You who take the moon as in a sieve, and sift + Her flake by flake and spread her meaning out; + You who roll the stars like jewels in your palm, + So that they seem to utter themselves aloud; + You who steep from out the days their colour, + Reveal the universal tint that dyes + Their web; who shadow the sun's great gestures + and expressions + So that he seems a stranger in his passing; + Who voice the dumb night fittingly; + Sea, you shadow of all things, now mock us to + death with your shadowing. + + BOURNEMOUTH +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>HYMN TO PRIAPUS</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MY love lies underground + With her face upturned to mine, + And her mouth unclosed in a last long kiss + That ended her life and mine. + + I dance at the Christmas party + Under the mistletoe + Along with a ripe, slack country lass + Jostling to and fro. + + The big, soft country lass, + Like a loose sheaf of wheat + Slipped through my arms on the threshing floor + At my feet. + + The warm, soft country lass, + Sweet as an armful of wheat + At threshing-time broken, was broken + For me, and ah, it was sweet! + + Now I am going home + Fulfilled and alone, + I see the great Orion standing + Looking down. + + He's the star of my first beloved + Love-making. + The witness of all that bitter-sweet + Heart-aching. + + Now he sees this as well, + This last commission. + Nor do I get any look + Of admonition. + + He can add the reckoning up + I suppose, between now and then, + Having walked himself in the thorny, difficult + Ways of men. + + He has done as I have done + No doubt: + Remembered and forgotten + Turn and about. + + My love lies underground + With her face upturned to mine, + And her mouth unclosed in the last long kiss + That ended her life and mine. + + She fares in the stark immortal + Fields of death; + I in these goodly, frozen + Fields beneath. + + Something in me remembers + And will not forget. + The stream of my life in the darkness + Deathward set! + + And something in me has forgotten, + Has ceased to care. + Desire comes up, and contentment + Is debonair. + + I, who am worn and careful, + How much do I care? + How is it I grin then, and chuckle + Over despair? + + Grief, grief, I suppose and sufficient + Grief makes us free + To be faithless and faithful together + As we have to be. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>BALLAD OF A WILFUL WOMAN</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FIRST PART + + UPON her plodding palfrey + With a heavy child at her breast + And Joseph holding the bridle + They mount to the last hill-crest. + + Dissatisfied and weary + She sees the blade of the sea + Dividing earth and heaven + In a glitter of ecstasy. + + Sudden a dark-faced stranger + With his back to the sun, holds out + His arms; so she lights from her palfrey + And turns her round about. + + She has given the child to Joseph, + Gone down to the flashing shore; + And Joseph, shading his eyes with his hand, + Stands watching evermore. + + SECOND PART + + THE sea in the stones is singing, + A woman binds her hair + With yellow, frail sea-poppies, + That shine as her fingers stir. + + While a naked man comes swiftly + Like a spurt of white foam rent + From the crest of a falling breaker, + Over the poppies sent. + + He puts his surf-wet fingers + Over her startled eyes, + And asks if she sees the land, the land, + The land of her glad surmise. + + THIRD PART + + AGAIN in her blue, blue mantle + Riding at Joseph's side, + She says, "I went to Cythera, + And woe betide!" + + Her heart is a swinging cradle + That holds the perfect child, + But the shade on her forehead ill becomes + A mother mild. + + So on with the slow, mean journey + In the pride of humility; + Till they halt at a cliff on the edge of the land + Over a sullen sea. + + While Joseph pitches the sleep-tent + She goes far down to the shore + To where a man in a heaving boat + Waits with a lifted oar. + + FOURTH PART + + THEY dwelt in a huge, hoarse sea-cave + And looked far down the dark + Where an archway torn and glittering + Shone like a huge sea-spark. + + He said: "Do you see the spirits + Crowding the bright doorway?" + He said: "Do you hear them whispering?" + He said: "Do you catch what they say?" + + FIFTH PART + + THEN Joseph, grey with waiting, + His dark eyes full of pain, + Heard: "I have been to Patmos; + Give me the child again." + + Now on with the hopeless journey + Looking bleak ahead she rode, + And the man and the child of no more account + Than the earth the palfrey trode. + + Till a beggar spoke to Joseph, + But looked into her eyes; + So she turned, and said to her husband: + "I give, whoever denies." + + SIXTH PART + + SHE gave on the open heather + Beneath bare judgment stars, + And she dreamed of her children and Joseph, + And the isles, and her men, and her scars. + + And she woke to distil the berries + The beggar had gathered at night, + Whence he drew the curious liquors + He held in delight. + + He gave her no crown of flowers, + No child and no palfrey slow, + Only led her through harsh, hard places + Where strange winds blow. + + She follows his restless wanderings + Till night when, by the fire's red stain, + Her face is bent in the bitter steam + That comes from the flowers of pain. + + Then merciless and ruthless + He takes the flame-wild drops + To the town, and tries to sell them + With the market-crops. + + So she follows the cruel journey + That ends not anywhere, + And dreams, as she stirs the mixing-pot, + She is brewing hope from despair. + + TRIER +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>FIRST MORNING</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE night was a failure + but why not—? + + In the darkness + with the pale dawn seething at the window + through the black frame + I could not be free, + not free myself from the past, those others— + and our love was a confusion, + there was a horror, + you recoiled away from me. + + Now, in the morning + As we sit in the sunshine on the seat by the little + shrine, + And look at the mountain-walls, + Walls of blue shadow, + And see so near at our feet in the meadow + Myriads of dandelion pappus + Bubbles ravelled in the dark green grass + Held still beneath the sunshine— + + It is enough, you are near— + The mountains are balanced, + The dandelion seeds stay half-submerged in the + grass; + You and I together + We hold them proud and blithe + On our love. + They stand upright on our love, + Everything starts from us, + We are the source. + + BEUERBERG +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>"AND OH— + THAT THE MAN I AM + MIGHT CEASE TO BE—"</i> + + No, now I wish the sunshine would stop, + and the white shining houses, and the gay red + flowers on the balconies + and the bluish mountains beyond, would be crushed + out + between two valves of darkness; + the darkness falling, the darkness rising, with + muffled sound + obliterating everything. + + I wish that whatever props up the walls of light + would fall, and darkness would come hurling + heavily down, + and it would be thick black dark for ever. + Not sleep, which is grey with dreams, + nor death, which quivers with birth, + but heavy, sealing darkness, silence, all immovable. + + What is sleep? + It goes over me, like a shadow over a hill, + but it does not alter me, nor help me. + And death would ache still, I am sure; + it would be lambent, uneasy. + I wish it would be completely dark everywhere, + inside me, and out, heavily dark + utterly. + + WOLFRATSHAUSEN +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>SHE LOOKS BACK</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE pale bubbles + The lovely pale-gold bubbles of the globe-flowers + In a great swarm clotted and single + Went rolling in the dusk towards the river + To where the sunset hung its wan gold cloths; + And you stood alone, watching them go, + And that mother-love like a demon drew you + from me + Towards England. + + Along the road, after nightfall, + Along the glamorous birch-tree avenue + Across the river levels + We went in silence, and you staring to England. + + So then there shone within the jungle darkness + Of the long, lush under-grass, a glow-worm's + sudden + Green lantern of pure light, a little, intense, fusing + triumph, + White and haloed with fire-mist, down in the + tangled darkness. + + Then you put your hand in mine again, kissed me, + and we struggled to be together. + And the little electric flashes went with us, in the + grass, + Tiny lighthouses, little souls of lanterns, courage + burst into an explosion of green light + Everywhere down in the grass, where darkness was + ravelled in darkness. + + Still, the kiss was a touch of bitterness on my mouth + Like salt, burning in. + And my hand withered in your hand. + For you were straining with a wild heart, back, + back again, + Back to those children you had left behind, to all + the æons of the past. + And I was here in the under-dusk of the Isar. + + At home, we leaned in the bedroom window + Of the old Bavarian Gasthaus, + And the frogs in the pool beyond thrilled with + exuberance, + Like a boiling pot the pond crackled with happiness, + Like a rattle a child spins round for joy, the night + rattled + With the extravagance of the frogs, + And you leaned your cheek on mine, + And I suffered it, wanting to sympathise. + + At last, as you stood, your white gown falling from + your breasts, + You looked into my eyes, and said: "But this is + joy!" + I acquiesced again. + But the shadow of lying was in your eyes, + The mother in you, fierce as a murderess, glaring + to England, + Yearning towards England, towards your young + children, + Insisting upon your motherhood, devastating. + + Still, the joy was there also, you spoke truly, + The joy was not to be driven off so easily; + Stronger than fear or destructive mother-love, it + stood flickering; + The frogs helped also, whirring away. + Yet how I have learned to know that look in your + eyes + Of horrid sorrow! + How I know that glitter of salt, dry, sterile, + sharp, corrosive salt! + Not tears, but white sharp brine + Making hideous your eyes. + + I have seen it, felt it in my mouth, my throat, my + chest, my belly, + Burning of powerful salt, burning, eating through + my defenceless nakedness. + I have been thrust into white, sharp crystals, + Writhing, twisting, superpenetrated. + + Ah, Lot's Wife, Lot's Wife! + The pillar of salt, the whirling, horrible column + of salt, like a waterspout + That has enveloped me! + Snow of salt, white, burning, eating salt + In which I have writhed. + + Lot's Wife!—Not Wife, but Mother. + I have learned to curse your motherhood, + You pillar of salt accursed. + I have cursed motherhood because of you, + Accursed, base motherhood! + + I long for the time to come, when the curse against + you will have gone out of my heart. + But it has not gone yet. + Nevertheless, once, the frogs, the globe-flowers of + Bavaria, the glow-worms + Gave me sweet lymph against the salt-burns, + There is a kindness in the very rain. + + Therefore, even in the hour of my deepest, pas- + sionate malediction + I try to remember it is also well between us. + That you are with me in the end. + That you never look quite back; nine-tenths, ah, + more + You look round over your shoulder; + But never quite back. + + Nevertheless the curse against you is still in my + heart + Like a deep, deep burn. + The curse against all mothers. + All mothers who fortify themselves in motherhood, + devastating the vision. + They are accursed, and the curse is not taken off + It burns within me like a deep, old burn, + And oh, I wish it was better. + + BEUERBERG +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>ON THE BALCONY</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IN front of the sombre mountains, a faint, lost + ribbon of rainbow; + And between us and it, the thunder; + And down below in the green wheat, the labourers + Stand like dark stumps, still in the green wheat. + + You are near to me, and your naked feet in their + sandals, + And through the scent of the balcony's naked + timber + I distinguish the scent of your hair: so now the + limber + Lightning falls from heaven. + + Adown the pale-green glacier river floats + A dark boat through the gloom—and whither? + The thunder roars. But still we have each other! + The naked lightnings in the heavens dither + And disappear—what have we but each other? + The boat has gone. + + ICKING +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>FROHNLEICHNAM</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You have come your way, I have come my way; + You have stepped across your people, carelessly, + hurting them all; + I have stepped across my people, and hurt them + in spite of my care. + + But steadily, surely, and notwithstanding + We have come our ways and met at last + Here in this upper room. + + Here the balcony + Overhangs the street where the bullock-wagons + slowly + Go by with their loads of green and silver birch- + trees + For the feast of Corpus Christi. + + Here from the balcony + We look over the growing wheat, where the jade- + green river + Goes between the pine-woods, + Over and beyond to where the many mountains + Stand in their blueness, flashing with snow and the + morning. + + I have done; a quiver of exultation goes through + me, like the first + Breeze of the morning through a narrow white + birch. + You glow at last like the mountain tops when they + catch + Day and make magic in heaven. + + At last I can throw away world without end, and + meet you + Unsheathed and naked and narrow and white; + At last you can throw immortality off, and I see you + Glistening with all the moment and all your + beauty. + + Shameless and callous I love you; + Out of indifference I love you; + Out of mockery we dance together, + Out of the sunshine into the shadow, + Passing across the shadow into the sunlight, + Out of sunlight to shadow. + + As we dance + Your eyes take all of me in as a communication; + As we dance + I see you, ah, in full! + Only to dance together in triumph of being together + Two white ones, sharp, vindicated, + Shining and touching, + Is heaven of our own, sheer with repudiation. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>IN THE DARK</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A BLOTCH of pallor stirs beneath the high + Square picture-dusk, the window of dark sky. + + A sound subdued in the darkness: tears! + As if a bird in difficulty up the valley steers. + + "Why have you gone to the window? Why don't + you sleep? + How you have wakened me! But why, why do + you weep?" + + <i>"I am afraid of you, I am afraid, afraid! + There is something in you destroys me—!"</i> + + "You have dreamed and are not awake, come here + to me." + <i>"No, I have wakened. It is you, you are cruel to + me!"</i> + + "My dear!"—<i>"Yes, yes, you are cruel to me. You + cast + A shadow over my breasts that will kill me at last."</i> + + "Come!"—<i>"No, I'm a thing of life. I give + You armfuls of sunshine, and you won't let me live."</i> + + "Nay, I'm too sleepy!"—<i>"Ah, you are horrible; + You stand before me like ghosts, like a darkness + upright."</i> + + "I!"—<i>"How can you treat me so, and love me? + My feet have no hold, you take the sky from above me."</i> + + "My dear, the night is soft and eternal, no doubt + You love it!"—<i>"It is dark, it kills me, I am put out."</i> + + "My dear, when you cross the street in the sun- + shine, surely + Your own small night goes with you. Why treat + it so poorly?" + + <i>"No, no, I dance in the sun, I'm a thing of life—"</i> + "Even then it is dark behind you. Turn round, + my wife." + + <i>"No, how cruel you are, you people the sunshine + With shadows!"</i>—"With yours I people the + sunshine, yours and mine—" + + "In the darkness we all are gone, we are gone + with the trees + And the restless river;—we are lost and gone + with all these." + + <i>"But I am myself, I have nothing to do with these."</i> + "Come back to bed, let us sleep on our mys- + teries. + + "Come to me here, and lay your body by mine, + And I will be all the shadow, you the shine. + + "Come, you are cold, the night has frightened you. + Hark at the river! It pants as it hurries through + + "The pine-woods. How I love them so, in their + mystery of not-to-be." + <i>"—But let me be myself, not a river or a tree."</i> + + "Kiss me! How cold you are!—Your little breasts + Are bubbles of ice. Kiss me!—You know how + it rests + + "One to be quenched, to be given up, to be gone + in the dark; + To be blown out, to let night dowse the spark. + + "But never mind, my love. Nothing matters, + save sleep; + Save you, and me, and sleep; all the rest will + keep." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MUTILATION + + A THICK mist-sheet lies over the broken wheat. + I walk up to my neck in mist, holding my mouth up. + Across there, a discoloured moon burns itself out. + + I hold the night in horror; + I dare not turn round. + + To-night I have left her alone. + They would have it I have left her for ever. + + Oh my God, how it aches + Where she is cut off from me! + + Perhaps she will go back to England. + Perhaps she will go back, + Perhaps we are parted for ever. + + If I go on walking through the whole breadth of + Germany + I come to the North Sea, or the Baltic. + + Over there is Russia—Austria, Switzerland, France, + in a circle! + I here in the undermist on the Bavarian road. + + It aches in me. + What is England or France, far off, + But a name she might take? + I don't mind this continent stretching, the sea far + away; + It aches in me for her + Like the agony of limbs cut off and aching; + Not even longing, + It is only agony. + + A cripple! + Oh God, to be mutilated! + To be a cripple! + + And if I never see her again? + + I think, if they told me so + I could convulse the heavens with my horror. + I think I could alter the frame of things in my + agony. + I think I could break the System with my heart. + I think, in my convulsion, the skies would break. + + She too suffers. + But who could compel her, if she chose me against + them all? + She has not chosen me finally, she suspends her + choice. + Night folk, Tuatha De Danaan, dark Gods, govern + her sleep, + Magnificent ghosts of the darkness, carry off her + decision in sleep, + Leave her no choice, make her lapse me-ward, + make her, + Oh Gods of the living Darkness, powers of Night. + + WOLFRATSHAUSEN +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>HUMILIATION</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I HAVE been so innerly proud, and so long alone, + Do not leave me, or I shall break. + Do not leave me. + + What should I do if you were gone again + So soon? + What should I look for? + Where should I go? + What should I be, I myself, + "I"? + What would it mean, this + I? + + Do not leave me. + + What should I think of death? + If I died, it would not be you: + It would be simply the same + Lack of you. + The same want, life or death, + Unfulfilment, + The same insanity of space + You not there for me. + + Think, I daren't die + For fear of the lack in death. + And I daren't live. + + Unless there were a morphine or a drug. + + I would bear the pain. + But always, strong, unremitting + It would make me not me. + The thing with my body that would go on + living + Would not be me. + Neither life nor death could help. + + Think, I couldn't look towards death + Nor towards the future: + Only not look. + Only myself + Stand still and bind and blind myself. + + God, that I have no choice! + That my own fulfilment is up against me + Timelessly! + The burden of self-accomplishment! + The charge of fulfilment! + And God, that she is <i>necessary!</i> + <i>Necessary,</i> and I have no choice! + + Do not leave me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>A YOUNG WIFE</i> + + THE pain of loving you + Is almost more than I can bear. + + I walk in fear of you. + The darkness starts up where + You stand, and the night comes through + Your eyes when you look at me. + + Ah never before did I see + The shadows that live in the sun! + + Now every tall glad tree + Turns round its back to the sun + And looks down on the ground, to see + The shadow it used to shun. + + At the foot of each glowing thing + A night lies looking up. + + Oh, and I want to sing + And dance, but I can't lift up + My eyes from the shadows: dark + They lie spilt round the cup. + + What is it?—Hark + The faint fine seethe in the air! + + Like the seething sound in a shell! + It is death still seething where + The wild-flower shakes its bell + And the sky lark twinkles blue— + + The pain of loving you + Is almost more than I can bear. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>GREEN</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE dawn was apple-green, + The sky was green wine held up in the sun, + The moon was a golden petal between. + + She opened her eyes, and green + They shone, clear like flowers undone + For the first time, now for the first time seen. + + ICKING +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>RIVER ROSES</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BY the Isar, in the twilight + We were wandering and singing, + By the Isar, in the evening + We climbed the huntsman's ladder and sat + swinging + In the fir-tree overlooking the marshes, + While river met with river, and the ringing + Of their pale-green glacier water filled the evening. + + By the Isar, in the twilight + We found the dark wild roses + Hanging red at the river; and simmering + Frogs were singing, and over the river closes + Was savour of ice and of roses; and glimmering + Fear was abroad. We whispered: "No one + knows us. + Let it be as the snake disposes + Here in this simmering marsh." + + KLOSTER SCHAEFTLARN +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>GLOIRE DE DIJON</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WHEN she rises in the morning + I linger to watch her; + She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window + And the sunbeams catch her + Glistening white on the shoulders, + While down her sides the mellow + Golden shadow glows as + She stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts + Sway like full-blown yellow + Gloire de Dijon roses. + + She drips herself with water, and her shoulders + Glisten as silver, they crumple up + Like wet and falling roses, and I listen + For the sluicing of their rain-dishevelled petals. + In the window full of sunlight + Concentrates her golden shadow + Fold on fold, until it glows as + Mellow as the glory roses. + + ICKING +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +<i>ROSES ON THE BREAKFAST + TABLE</i> + + JUST a few of the roses we gathered from the Isar + Are fallen, and their mauve-red petals on the + cloth + Float like boats on a river, while other + Roses are ready to fall, reluctant and loth. + + She laughs at me across the table, saying + I am beautiful. I look at the rumpled young roses + And suddenly realise, in them as in me, + How lovely the present is that this day discloses. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>I AM LIKE A ROSE</i> + + I AM myself at last; now I achieve + My very self. I, with the wonder mellow, + Full of fine warmth, I issue forth in clear + And single me, perfected from my fellow. + + Here I am all myself. No rose-bush heaving + Its limpid sap to culmination, has brought + Itself more sheer and naked out of the green + In stark-clear roses, than I to myself am brought. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>ROSE OF ALL THE WORLD</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I AM here myself; as though this heave of effort + At starting other life, fulfilled my own: + Rose-leaves that whirl in colour round a core + Of seed-specks kindled lately and softly blown + + By all the blood of the rose-bush into being— + Strange, that the urgent will in me, to set + My mouth on hers in kisses, and so softly + To bring together two strange sparks, beget + + Another life from our lives, so should send + The innermost fire of my own dim soul out- + spinning + And whirling in blossom of flame and being upon + me! + That my completion of manhood should be the + beginning + + Another life from mine! For so it looks. + The seed is purpose, blossom accident. + The seed is all in all, the blossom lent + To crown the triumph of this new descent. + + Is that it, woman? Does it strike you so? + The Great Breath blowing a tiny seed of fire + Fans out your petals for excess of flame, + Till all your being smokes with fine desire? + + Or are we kindled, you and I, to be + One rose of wonderment upon the tree + Of perfect life, and is our possible seed + But the residuum of the ecstasy? + + How will you have it?—the rose is all in all, + Or the ripe rose-fruits of the luscious fall? + The sharp begetting, or the child begot? + Our consummation matters, or does it not? + + To me it seems the seed is just left over + From the red rose-flowers' fiery transience; + Just orts and slarts; berries that smoulder in the + bush + Which burnt just now with marvellous immanence. + + Blossom, my darling, blossom, be a rose + Of roses unchidden and purposeless; a rose + For rosiness only, without an ulterior motive; + For me it is more than enough if the flower un- + close. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>A YOUTH MOWING</i> + + THERE are four men mowing down by the Isar; + I can hear the swish of the scythe-strokes, four + Sharp breaths taken: yea, and I + Am sorry for what's in store. + + The first man out of the four that's mowing + Is mine, I claim him once and for all; + Though it's sorry I am, on his young feet, knowing + None of the trouble he's led to stall. + + As he sees me bringing the dinner, he lifts + His head as proud as a deer that looks + Shoulder-deep out of the corn; and wipes + His scythe-blade bright, unhooks + + The scythe-stone and over the stubble to me. + Lad, thou hast gotten a child in me, + Laddie, a man thou'lt ha'e to be, + Yea, though I'm sorry for thee. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>QUITE FORSAKEN</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WHAT pain, to wake and miss you! + To wake with a tightened heart, + And mouth reaching forward to kiss you! + + This then at last is the dawn, and the bell + Clanging at the farm! Such bewilderment + Comes with the sight of the room, I cannot tell. + + It is raining. Down the half-obscure road + Four labourers pass with their scythes + Dejectedly;—a huntsman goes by with his load: + + A gun, and a bunched-up deer, its four little feet + Clustered dead.—And this is the dawn + For which I wanted the night to retreat! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>FORSAKEN AND FORLORN</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE house is silent, it is late at night, I am alone. + From the balcony + I can hear the Isar moan, + Can see the white + Rift of the river eerily, between the pines, under + a sky of stone. + + Some fireflies drift through the middle air + Tinily. + I wonder where + Ends this darkness that annihilates me. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>FIREFLIES IN THE CORN</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>She speaks.</i> + Look at the little darlings in the corn! + The rye is taller than you, who think yourself + So high and mighty: look how the heads are + borne + Dark and proud on the sky, like a number of + knights + Passing with spears and pennants and manly scorn. + + Knights indeed!—much knight I know will ride + With his head held high-serene against the sky! + Limping and following rather at my side + Moaning for me to love him!—Oh darling rye + How I adore you for your simple pride! + + And the dear, dear fireflies wafting in between + And over the swaying corn-stalks, just above + All the dark-feathered helmets, like little green + Stars come low and wandering here for love + Of these dark knights, shedding their delicate + sheen! + + I thank you I do, you happy creatures, you dears + Riding the air, and carrying all the time + Your little lanterns behind you! Ah, it cheers + My soul to see you settling and trying to + climb + The corn-stalks, tipping with fire the spears. + + All over the dim corn's motion, against the blue + Dark sky of night, a wandering glitter, a + swarm + Of questing brilliant souls going out with their + true + Proud knights to battle! Sweet, how I warm + My poor, my perished soul with the sight of + you! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>A DOE AT EVENING</i> + + As I went through the marshes + a doe sprang out of the corn + and flashed up the hill-side + leaving her fawn. + + On the sky-line + she moved round to watch, + she pricked a fine black blotch + on the sky. + + I looked at her + and felt her watching; + I became a strange being. + Still, I had my right to be there with her, + + Her nimble shadow trotting + along the sky-line, she + put back her fine, level-balanced head. + And I knew her. + + Ah yes, being male, is not my head hard-balanced, + antlered? + Are not my haunches light? + Has she not fled on the same wind with me? + Does not my fear cover her fear? + + IRSCHENHAUSEN +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +<i>SONG OF A MAN WHO IS + NOT LOVED</i> + + THE space of the world is immense, before me and + around me; + If I turn quickly, I am terrified, feeling space + surround me; + Like a man in a boat on very clear, deep water, + space frightens and confounds me. + + I see myself isolated in the universe, and wonder + What effect I can have. My hands wave under + The heavens like specks of dust that are floating + asunder. + + I hold myself up, and feel a big wind blowing + Me like a gadfly into the dusk, without my know- + ing + Whither or why or even how I am going. + + So much there is outside me, so infinitely + Small am I, what matter if minutely + I beat my way, to be lost immediately? + + How shall I flatter myself that I can do + Anything in such immensity? I am too + Little to count in the wind that drifts me through. + + GLASHÜTTE +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>SINNERS</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE big mountains sit still in the afternoon light + Shadows in their lap; + The bees roll round in the wild-thyme with de- + light. + + We sitting here among the cranberries + So still in the gap + Of rock, distilling our memories + + Are sinners! Strange! The bee that blunders + Against me goes off with a laugh. + A squirrel cocks his head on the fence, and + wonders + + What about sin?—For, it seems + The mountains have + No shadow of us on their snowy forehead of + dreams + + As they ought to have. They rise above us + Dreaming + For ever. One even might think that they love us. + + <i>Little red cranberries cheek to cheek, + Two great dragon-flies wrestling; + You, with your forehead nestling + Against me, and bright peak shining to peak—</i> + + There's a love-song for you!—Ah, if only + There were no teeming + Swarms of mankind in the world, and we were + less lonely! + + MAYRHOFEN +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>MISERY</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + OUT of this oubliette between the mountains + five valleys go, five passes like gates; + three of them black in shadow, two of them bright + with distant sunshine; + and sunshine fills one high valley bed, + green grass shining, and little white houses + like quartz crystals, + little, but distinct a way off. + + Why don't I go? + Why do I crawl about this pot, this oubliette, + stupidly? + Why don't I go? + + But where? + If I come to a pine-wood, I can't say + Now I am arrived! + What are so many straight trees to me! + + STERZING +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +<i>SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN + ITALY</i> + + THE man and the maid go side by side + With an interval of space between; + And his hands are awkward and want to hide, + She braves it out since she must be seen. + + When some one passes he drops his head + Shading his face in his black felt hat, + While the hard girl hardens; nothing is said, + There is nothing to wonder or cavil at. + + Alone on the open road again + With the mountain snows across the lake + Flushing the afternoon, they are uncomfortable, + The loneliness daunts them, their stiff throats + ache. + + And he sighs with relief when she parts from him; + Her proud head held in its black silk scarf + Gone under the archway, home, he can join + The men that lounge in a group on the wharf. + + His evening is a flame of wine + Among the eager, cordial men. + And she with her women hot and hard + Moves at her ease again. + + <i>She is marked, she is singled out + For the fire: + The brand is upon him, look—you, + Of desire. + + They are chosen, ah, they are fated + For the fight! + Champion her, all you women! Men, menfolk + Hold him your light! + + Nourish her, train her, harden her + Women all! + Fold him, be good to him, cherish him + Men, ere he fall. + + Women, another champion! + This, men, is yours! + Wreathe and enlap and anoint them + Behind separate doors.</i> + + GARGNANO +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>WINTER DAWN</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + GREEN star Sirius + Dribbling over the lake; + The stars have gone so far on their road, + Yet we're awake! + + Without a sound + The new young year comes in + And is half-way over the lake. + We must begin + + Again. This love so full + Of hate has hurt us so, + We lie side by side + Moored—but no, + + Let me get up + And wash quite clean + Of this hate.— + So green + + The great star goes! + I am washed quite clean, + Quite clean of it all. + But e'en + + So cold, so cold and clean + Now the hate is gone! + It is all no good, + I am chilled to the bone + + Now the hate is gone; + There is nothing left; + I am pure like bone, + Of all feeling bereft. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>A BAD BEGINNING</i> + + THE yellow sun steps over the mountain-top + And falters a few short steps across the lake— + Are you awake? + + See, glittering on the milk-blue, morning lake + They are laying the golden racing-track of the + sun; + The day has begun. + + The sun is in my eyes, I must get up. + I want to go, there's a gold road blazes before + My breast—which is so sore. + + What?—your throat is bruised, bruised with my + kisses? + Ah, but if I am cruel what then are you? + I am bruised right through. + + What if I love you!—This misery + Of your dissatisfaction and misprision + Stupefies me. + + Ah yes, your open arms! Ah yes, ah yes, + You would take me to your breast!—But no, + You should come to mine, + It were better so. + + Here I am—get up and come to me! + Not as a visitor either, nor a sweet + And winsome child of innocence; nor + As an insolent mistress telling my pulse's beat. + + Come to me like a woman coming home + To the man who is her husband, all the rest + Subordinate to this, that he and she + Are joined together for ever, as is best. + + Behind me on the lake I hear the steamer drum- + ming + From Austria. There lies the world, and here + Am I. Which way are you coming? +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>WHY DOES SHE WEEP?</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HUSH then + why do you cry? + It's you and me + the same as before. + + If you hear a rustle + it's only a rabbit + gone back to his hole + in a bustle. + + If something stirs in the branches + overhead, it will be a squirrel moving + uneasily, disturbed by the stress + of our loving. + + Why should you cry then? + Are you afraid of God + in the dark? + + I'm not afraid of God. + Let him come forth. + If he is hiding in the cover + let him come forth. + + Now in the cool of the day + it is we who walk in the trees + and call to God "Where art thou?" + And it is he who hides. + + Why do you cry? + My heart is bitter. + Let God come forth to justify + himself now. + + Why do you cry? + Is it Wehmut, ist dir weh? + Weep then, yea + for the abomination of our old righteousness, + + We have done wrong + many times; + but this time we begin to do right. + + Weep then, weep + for the abomination of our past righteousness. + God will keep + hidden, he won't come forth. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>GIORNO DEI MORTI</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ALONG the avenue of cypresses + All in their scarlet cloaks, and surplices + Of linen go the chanting choristers, + The priests in gold and black, the villagers. . . . + + And all along the path to the cemetery + The round dark heads of men crowd silently, + And black-scarved faces of women-folk, wistfully + Watch at the banner of death, and the mystery. + + And at the foot of a grave a father stands + With sunken head, and forgotten, folded hands; + And at the foot of a grave a mother kneels + With pale shut face, nor either hears nor feels + + The coming of the chanting choristers + Between the avenue of cypresses, + The silence of the many villagers, + The candle-flames beside the surplices. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>ALL SOULS</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THEY are chanting now the service of All the Dead + And the village folk outside in the burying ground + Listen—except those who strive with their dead, + Reaching out in anguish, yet unable quite to + touch them: + Those villagers isolated at the grave + Where the candles burn in the daylight, and the + painted wreaths + Are propped on end, there, where the mystery + starts. + + The naked candles burn on every grave. + On your grave, in England, the weeds grow. + + But I am your naked candle burning, + And that is not your grave, in England, + The world is your grave. + And my naked body standing on your grave + Upright towards heaven is burning off to you + Its flame of life, now and always, till the end. + + It is my offering to you; every day is All Souls' + Day. + + I forget you, have forgotten you. + I am busy only at my burning, + I am busy only at my life. + But my feet are on your grave, planted. + And when I lift my face, it is a flame that goes up + To the other world, where you are now. + But I am not concerned with you. + I have forgotten you. + + I am a naked candle burning on your grave. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>LADY WIFE</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AH yes, I know you well, a sojourner + At the hearth; + I know right well the marriage ring you wear, + And what it's worth. + + The angels came to Abraham, and they stayed + In his house awhile; + So you to mine, I imagine; yes, happily + Condescend to be vile. + + I see you all the time, you bird-blithe, lovely + Angel in disguise. + I see right well how I ought to be grateful, + Smitten with reverent surprise. + + Listen, I have no use + For so rare a visit; + Mine is a common devil's + Requisite. + + Rise up and go, I have no use for you + And your blithe, glad mien. + No angels here, for me no goddesses, + Nor any Queen. + + Put ashes on your head, put sackcloth on + And learn to serve. + You have fed me with your sweetness, now I am sick, + As I deserve. + + Queens, ladies, angels, women rare, + I have had enough. + Put sackcloth on, be crowned with powdery ash, + Be common stuff. + + And serve now woman, serve, as a woman should, + Implicitly. + Since I must serve and struggle with the imminent + Mystery. + + Serve then, I tell you, add your strength to mine + Take on this doom. + What are you by yourself, do you think, and what + The mere fruit of your womb? + + What is the fruit of your womb then, you mother, + you queen, + When it falls to the ground? + Is it more than the apples of Sodom you scorn so, + the men + Who abound? + + Bring forth the sons of your womb then, and put + them + Into the fire + Of Sodom that covers the earth; bring them forth + From the womb of your precious desire. + + You woman most holy, you mother, you being + beyond + Question or diminution, + Add yourself up, and your seed, to the nought + Of your last solution. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>BOTH SIDES OF THE MEDAL</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AND because you love me + think you you do not hate me? + Ha, since you love me + to ecstasy + it follows you hate me to ecstasy. + + Because when you hear me + go down the road outside the house + you must come to the window to watch me go, + do you think it is pure worship? + + Because, when I sit in the room, + here, in my own house, + and you want to enlarge yourself with this friend of + mine, + such a friend as he is, + yet you cannot get beyond your awareness of me + you are held back by my being in the same world + with you, + do you think it is bliss alone? + sheer harmony? + + No doubt if I were dead, you must + reach into death after me, + but would not your hate reach even more madly + than your love? + your impassioned, unfinished hate? + + Since you have a passion for me, + as I for you, + does not that passion stand in your way like a + Balaam's ass? + and am I not Balaam's ass + golden-mouthed occasionally? + But mostly, do you not detest my bray? + + Since you are confined in the orbit of me + do you not loathe the confinement? + Is not even the beauty and peace of an orbit + an intolerable prison to you, + as it is to everybody? + + But we will learn to submit + each of us to the balanced, eternal orbit + wherein we circle on our fate + in strange conjunction. + + What is chaos, my love? + It is not freedom. + A disarray of falling stars coming to nought. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>LOGGERHEADS</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PLEASE yourself how you have it. + Take my words, and fling + Them down on the counter roundly; + See if they ring. + + Sift my looks and expressions, + And see what proportion there is + Of sand in my doubtful sugar + Of verities. + + Have a real stock-taking + Of my manly breast; + Find out if I'm sound or bankrupt, + Or a poor thing at best. + + For I am quite indifferent + To your dubious state, + As to whether you've found a fortune + In me, or a flea-bitten fate. + + Make a good investigation + Of all that is there, + And then, if it's worth it, be grateful— + If not then despair. + + If despair is our portion + Then let us despair. + Let us make for the weeping willow. + I don't care. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>DECEMBER NIGHT</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TAKE off your cloak and your hat + And your shoes, and draw up at my hearth + Where never woman sat. + + I have made the fire up bright; + Let us leave the rest in the dark + And sit by firelight. + + The wine is warm in the hearth; + The flickers come and go. + I will warm your feet with kisses + Until they glow. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>NEW YEAR'S EVE</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THERE are only two things now, + The great black night scooped out + And this fire-glow. + + This fire-glow, the core, + And we the two ripe pips + That are held in store. + + Listen, the darkness rings + As it circulates round our fire. + Take off your things. + + Your shoulders, your bruised throat + Your breasts, your nakedness! + This fiery coat! + + As the darkness flickers and dips, + As the firelight falls and leaps + From your feet to your lips! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>NEW YEAR'S NIGHT</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now you are mine, to-night at last I say it; + You're a dove I have bought for sacrifice, + And to-night I slay it. + + Here in my arms my naked sacrifice! + Death, do you hear, in my arms I am bringing + My offering, bought at great price. + + She's a silvery dove worth more than all I've got. + Now I offer her up to the ancient, inexorable God, + Who knows me not. + + Look, she's a wonderful dove, without blemish or + spot! + I sacrifice all in her, my last of the world, + Pride, strength, all the lot. + + All, all on the altar! And death swooping down + Like a falcon. 'Tis God has taken the victim; + I have won my renown. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>VALENTINE'S NIGHT</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You shadow and flame, + You interchange, + You death in the game! + + Now I gather you up, + Now I put you back + Like a poppy in its cup. + + And so, you are a maid + Again, my darling, but new, + Unafraid. + + My love, my blossom, a child + Almost! The flower in the bud + Again, undefiled. + + And yet, a woman, knowing + All, good, evil, both + In one blossom blowing. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>BIRTH NIGHT</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THIS fireglow is a red womb + In the night, where you're folded up + On your doom. + + And the ugly, brutal years + Are dissolving out of you, + And the stagnant tears. + + I the great vein that leads + From the night to the source of you, + Which the sweet blood feeds. + + New phase in the germ of you; + New sunny streams of blood + Washing you through. + + You are born again of me. + I, Adam, from the veins of me + The Eve that is to be. + + What has been long ago + Grows dimmer, we both forget, + We no longer know. + + You are lovely, your face is soft + Like a flower in bud + On a mountain croft. + + This is Noël for me. + To-night is a woman born + Of the man in me. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>RABBIT SNARED IN THE NIGHT</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WHY do you spurt and sprottle + like that, bunny? + Why should I want to throttle + you, bunny? + + Yes, bunch yourself between + my knees and lie still. + Lie on me with a hot, plumb, live weight, + heavy as a stone, passive, + yet hot, waiting. + + What are you waiting for? + What are you waiting for? + What is the hot, plumb weight of your desire on + me? + You have a hot, unthinkable desire of me, bunny. + + What is that spark + glittering at me on the unutterable darkness + of your eye, bunny? + The finest splinter of a spark + that you throw off, straight on the tinder of my + nerves! + + It sets up a strange fire, + a soft, most unwarrantable burning + a bale-fire mounting, mounting up in me. + + 'Tis not of me, bunny. + It was you engendered it, + with that fine, demoniacal spark + you jetted off your eye at me. + + <i>I</i> did not want it, + this furnace, this draught-maddened fire + which mounts up my arms + making them swell with turgid, ungovernable + strength. + + 'Twas not <i>I</i> that wished it, + that my fingers should turn into these flames + avid and terrible + that they are at this moment. + + It must have been <i>your</i> inbreathing, gaping desire + that drew this red gush in me; + I must be reciprocating <i>your</i> vacuous, hideous + passion. + + It must be the want in you + that has drawn this terrible draught of white fire + up my veins as up a chimney. + + It must be you who desire + this intermingling of the black and monstrous + fingers of Moloch + in the blood-jets of your throat. + + Come, you shall have your desire, + since already I am implicated with you + in your strange lust. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>PARADISE RE-ENTERED</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THROUGH the strait gate of passion, + Between the bickering fire + Where flames of fierce love tremble + On the body of fierce desire: + + To the intoxication, + The mind, fused down like a bead, + Flees in its agitation + The flames' stiff speed: + + At last to calm incandescence, + Burned clean by remorseless hate, + Now, at the day's renascence + We approach the gate. + + Now, from the darkened spaces + Of fear, and of frightened faces, + Death, in our awful embraces + Approached and passed by; + + We near the flame-burnt porches + Where the brands of the angels, like torches + Whirl,—in these perilous marches + Pausing to sigh; + + We look back on the withering roses, + The stars, in their sun-dimmed closes, + Where 'twas given us to repose us + Sure on our sanctity; + + Beautiful, candid lovers, + Burnt out of our earthy covers, + We might have nestled like plovers + In the fields of eternity. + + There, sure in sinless being, + All-seen, and then all-seeing, + In us life unto death agreeing, + We might have lain. + + But we storm the angel-guarded + Gates of the long-discarded, + Garden, which God has hoarded + Against our pain. + + The Lord of Hosts, and the Devil + Are left on Eternity's level + Field, and as victors we travel + To Eden home. + + Back beyond good and evil + Return we. Eve dishevel + Your hair for the bliss-drenched revel + On our primal loam. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>SPRING MORNING</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AH, through the open door + Is there an almond tree + Aflame with blossom! + —Let us fight no more. + + Among the pink and blue + Of the sky and the almond flowers + A sparrow flutters. + —We have come through, + + It is really spring!—See, + When he thinks himself alone + How he bullies the flowers. + —Ah, you and me + + How happy we'll be!—See him + He clouts the tufts of flowers + In his impudence. + —But, did you dream + + It would be so bitter? Never mind + It is finished, the spring is here. + And we're going to be summer-happy + And summer-kind. + + We have died, we have slain and been slain, + We are not our old selves any more. + I feel new and eager + To start again. + + It is gorgeous to live and forget. + And to feel quite new. + See the bird in the flowers?—he's making + A rare to-do! + + He thinks the whole blue sky + Is much less than the bit of blue egg + He's got in his nest—we'll be happy + You and I, I and you. + + With nothing to fight any more— + In each other, at least. + See, how gorgeous the world is + Outside the door! + + SAN GAUDENZIO +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>WEDLOCK</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I + + COME, my little one, closer up against me, + Creep right up, with your round head pushed in + my breast. + + How I love all of you! Do you feel me wrap + you + Up with myself and my warmth, like a flame + round the wick? + + And how I am not at all, except a flame that + mounts off you. + Where I touch you, I flame into being;—but is it + me, or you? + + That round head pushed in my chest, like a nut + in its socket, + And I the swift bracts that sheathe it: those + breasts, those thighs and knees, + + Those shoulders so warm and smooth: I feel + that I + Am a sunlight upon them, that shines them into + being. + + But how lovely to be you! Creep closer in, that + I am more. + I spread over you! How lovely, your round head, + your arms, + + Your breasts, your knees and feet! I feel that we + Are a bonfire of oneness, me flame flung leaping + round you, + You the core of the fire, crept into me. + + II + + AND oh, my little one, you whom I enfold, + How quaveringly I depend on you, to keep me + alive, + Like a flame on a wick! + + I, the man who enfolds you and holds you close, + How my soul cleaves to your bosom as I clasp you, + The very quick of my being! + + Suppose you didn't want me! I should sink down + Like a light that has no sustenance + And sinks low. + + Cherish me, my tiny one, cherish me who enfold + you. + Nourish me, and endue me, I am only of you, + I am your issue. + + How full and big like a robust, happy flame + When I enfold you, and you creep into me, + And my life is fierce at its quick + Where it comes off you! + + III + + MY little one, my big one, + My bird, my brown sparrow in my breast. + My squirrel clutching in to me; + My pigeon, my little one, so warm + So close, breathing so still. + + My little one, my big one, + I, who am so fierce and strong, enfolding you, + If you start away from my breast, and leave me, + How suddenly I shall go down into nothing + Like a flame that falls of a sudden. + + And you will be before me, tall and towering, + And I shall be wavering uncertain + Like a sunken flame that grasps for support. + + IV + + BUT now I am full and strong and certain + With you there firm at the core of me + Keeping me. + + How sure I feel, how warm and strong and happy + For the future! How sure the future is within me; + I am like a seed with a perfect flower enclosed. + + I wonder what it will be, + What will come forth of us. + What flower, my love? + + No matter, I am so happy, + I feel like a firm, rich, healthy root, + Rejoicing in what is to come. + + How I depend on you utterly + My little one, my big one! + How everything that will be, will not be of me, + Nor of either of us, + But of both of us. + + V + + AND think, there will something come forth from + us. + We two, folded so small together, + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>HISTORY</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +<i>SONG OF A MAN WHO HAS + COME THROUGH</i> + + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>ONE WOMAN TO ALL WOMEN</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 equi- + poise + 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 wonder- + ful + 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 +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>PEOPLE</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>STREET LAMPS</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 + Seeking where to alight! + + Slowly, above the street + Above the ebb of feet + Drifting in flight; + Still, in the purple distance + The gold of their strange persistence + As they cross and part and meet + And pass out of sight! + + The seed-ball of the sun + Is broken at last, and done + Is the orb of day. + Now to the separate ends + Seed after day-seed wends + A separate way. + + No sun will ever rise + Again on the wonted skies + In the midst of the spheres. + The globe of the day, over-ripe, + Is shattered at last beneath the stripe + Of the wind, and its oneness veers + Out myriad-wise. + + Seed after seed after seed + Drifts over the town, in its need + To sink and have done; + To settle at last in the dark, + To bury its weary spark + Where the end is begun. + + Darkness, and depth of sleep, + Nothing to know or to weep + Where the seed sinks in + To the earth of the under-night + Where all is silent, quite + Still, and the darknesses steep + Out all the sin. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>"SHE SAID AS WELL TO ME"</i> + + SHE said as well to me: "Why are you ashamed? + That little bit of your chest that shows between + the gap of your shirt, why cover it up? + Why shouldn't your legs and your good strong + thighs + be rough and hairy?—I'm glad they are like + that. + You are shy, you silly, you silly shy thing. + Men are the shyest creatures, they never will come + out of their covers. Like any snake + slipping into its bed of dead leaves, you hurry into + your clothes. + And I love you so! Straight and clean and all of a + piece is the body of a man, + such an instrument, a spade, like a spear, or an + oar, + such a joy to me—" + So she laid her hands and pressed them down my + sides, + so that I began to wonder over myself, and what I + was. + + She said to me: "What an instrument, your + body! + single and perfectly distinct from everything else! + What a tool in the hands of the Lord! + Only God could have brought it to its shape. + It feels as if his handgrasp, wearing you + had polished you and hollowed you, + hollowed this groove in your sides, grasped you + under the breasts + and brought you to the very quick of your form, + subtler than an old, soft-worn fiddle-bow. + + "When I was a child, I loved my father's riding- + whip + that he used so often. + I loved to handle it, it seemed like a near part of + him. + So I did his pens, and the jasper seal on his desk. + Something seemed to surge through me when I + touched them. + + "So it is with you, but here + The joy I feel! + God knows what I feel, but it is joy! + Look, you are clean and fine and singled out! + I admire you so, you are beautiful: this clean + sweep of your sides, this firmness, this hard + mould! + I would die rather than have it injured with one + scar. + I wish I could grip you like the fist of the Lord, + and have you—" + + So she said, and I wondered, + feeling trammelled and hurt. + It did not make me free. + + Now I say to her: "No tool, no instrument, no + God! + Don't touch me and appreciate me. + It is an infamy. + You would think twice before you touched a + weasel on a fence + as it lifts its straight white throat. + Your hand would not be so flig and easy. + Nor the adder we saw asleep with her head on her + shoulder, + curled up in the sunshine like a princess; + when she lifted her head in delicate, startled + wonder + you did not stretch forward to caress her + though she looked rarely beautiful + and a miracle as she glided delicately away, with + such dignity. + And the young bull in the field, with his wrinkled, + sad face, + you are afraid if he rises to his feet, + though he is all wistful and pathetic, like a mono- + lith, arrested, static. + + "Is there nothing in me to make you hesitate? + I tell you there is all these. + And why should you overlook them in me?—" +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>NEW HEAVEN AND EARTH</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I + + AND so I cross into another world + shyly and in homage linger for an invitation + from this unknown that I would trespass on. + + I am very glad, and all alone in the world, + all alone, and very glad, in a new world + where I am disembarked at last. + + I could cry with joy, because I am in the new world, + just ventured in. + I could cry with joy, and quite freely, there is + nobody to know. + + And whosoever the unknown people of this un- + known world may be + they will never understand my weeping for joy + to be adventuring among them + because it will still be a gesture of the old world I + am making + which they will not understand, because it is + quite, quite foreign to them. + + II + + I WAS so weary of the world + I was so sick of it + everything was tainted with myself, + skies, trees, flowers, birds, water, + people, houses, streets, vehicles, machines, + nations, armies, war, peace-talking, + work, recreation, governing, anarchy, + it was all tainted with myself, I knew it all to start + with + because it was all myself. + + When I gathered flowers, I knew it was myself + plucking my own flowering. + When I went in a train, I knew it was myself + travelling by my own invention. + When I heard the cannon of the war, I listened + with my own ears to my own destruction. + When I saw the torn dead, I knew it was my own + torn dead body. + It was all me, I had done it all in my own flesh. + + III + + I SHALL never forget the maniacal horror of it all + in the end + when everything was me, I knew it all already, I + anticipated it all in my soul + because I was the author and the result + I was the God and the creation at once; + creator, I looked at my creation; + created, I looked at myself, the creator: + it was a maniacal horror in the end. + + I was a lover, I kissed the woman I loved, + and God of horror, I was kissing also myself. + I was a father and a begetter of children, + and oh, oh horror, I was begetting and conceiving + in my own body. + + IV + + AT last came death, sufficiency of death, + and that at last relieved me, I died. + I buried my beloved; it was good, I buried + myself and was gone. + War came, and every hand raised to murder; + very good, very good, every hand raised to murder! + Very good, very good, I am a murderer! + It is good, I can murder and murder, and see + them fall + the mutilated, horror-struck youths, a multitude + one on another, and then in clusters together + smashed, all oozing with blood, and burned in heaps + going up in a foetid smoke to get rid of them + the murdered bodies of youths and men in heaps + and heaps and heaps and horrible reeking heaps + till it is almost enough, till I am reduced perhaps; + thousands and thousands of gaping, hideous foul + dead + that are youths and men and me + being burned with oil, and consumed in corrupt + thick smoke, that rolls + and taints and blackens the sky, till at last it is + dark, dark as night, or death, or hell + and I am dead, and trodden to nought in the + smoke-sodden tomb; + dead and trodden to nought in the sour black + earth + of the tomb; dead and trodden to nought, trodden + to nought. + + V + + GOD, but it is good to have died and been trodden + out + trodden to nought in sour, dead earth + quite to nought + absolutely to nothing + nothing + nothing + nothing. + + For when it is quite, quite nothing, then it is + everything. + When I am trodden quite out, quite, quite out + every vestige gone, then I am here + risen, and setting my foot on another world + risen, accomplishing a resurrection + risen, not born again, but risen, body the same as + before, + new beyond knowledge of newness, alive beyond + life + proud beyond inkling or furthest conception of + pride + living where life was never yet dreamed of, nor + hinted at + here, in the other world, still terrestrial + myself, the same as before, yet unaccountably new. + + VI + + I, IN the sour black tomb, trodden to absolute death + I put out my hand in the night, one night, and my + hand + touched that which was verily not me + verily it was not me. + Where I had been was a sudden blaze + a sudden flaring blaze! + So I put my hand out further, a little further + and I felt that which was not I, + it verily was not I + it was the unknown. + + Ha, I was a blaze leaping up! + I was a tiger bursting into sunlight. + I was greedy, I was mad for the unknown. + I, new-risen, resurrected, starved from the tomb + starved from a life of devouring always myself + now here was I, new-awakened, with my hand + stretching out + and touching the unknown, the real unknown, + the unknown unknown. + + My God, but I can only say + I touch, I feel the unknown! + I am the first comer! + Cortes, Pisarro, Columbus, Cabot, they are noth- + ing, nothing! + I am the first comer! + I am the discoverer! + I have found the other world! + + The unknown, the unknown! + I am thrown upon the shore. + I am covering myself with the sand. + I am filling my mouth with the earth. + I am burrowing my body into the soil. + The unknown, the new world! + + VII + + IT was the flank of my wife + I touched with my hand, I clutched with my + hand + rising, new-awakened from the tomb! + It was the flank of my wife + whom I married years ago + at whose side I have lain for over a thousand + nights + and all that previous while, she was I, she + was I; + I touched her, it was I who touched and I who was + touched. + + Yet rising from the tomb, from the black oblivion + stretching out my hand, my hand flung like a + drowned man's hand on a rock, + I touched her flank and knew I was carried by the + current in death + over to the new world, and was climbing out on + the shore, + risen, not to the old world, the old, changeless I, + the old life, + wakened not to the old knowledge + but to a new earth, a new I, a new knowledge, a + new world of time. + + Ah no, I cannot tell you what it is, the new world + I cannot tell you the mad, astounded rapture of + its discovery. + I shall be mad with delight before I have done, + and whosoever comes after will find me in the + new world + a madman in rapture. + + VIII + + GREEN streams that flow from the innermost + continent of the new world, + what are they? + Green and illumined and travelling for ever + dissolved with the mystery of the innermost heart + of the continent + mystery beyond knowledge or endurance, so sump- + tuous + out of the well-heads of the new world.— + The other, she too has strange green eyes! + White sands and fruits unknown and perfumes + that never + can blow across the dark seas to our usual + world! + And land that beats with a pulse! + And valleys that draw close in love! + And strange ways where I fall into oblivion of + uttermost living!— + Also she who is the other has strange-mounded + breasts and strange sheer slopes, and white + levels. + + Sightless and strong oblivion in utter life takes + possession of me! + The unknown, strong current of life supreme + drowns me and sweeps me away and holds me + down + to the sources of mystery, in the depths, + extinguishes there my risen resurrected life + and kindles it further at the core of utter mystery. + + GREATHAM +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>ELYSIUM</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I HAVE found a place of loneliness + Lonelier than Lyonesse + Lovelier than Paradise; + + Full of sweet stillness + That no noise can transgress + Never a lamp distress. + + The full moon sank in state. + I saw her stand and wait + For her watchers to shut the gate. + + Then I found myself in a wonderland + All of shadow and of bland + Silence hard to understand. + + I waited therefore; then I knew + The presence of the flowers that grew + Noiseless, their wonder noiseless blew. + + And flashing kingfishers that flew + In sightless beauty, and the few + Shadows the passing wild-beast threw. + + And Eve approaching over the ground + Unheard and subtle, never a sound + To let me know that I was found. + + Invisible the hands of Eve + Upon me travelling to reeve + Me from the matrix, to relieve + + Me from the rest! Ah terribly + Between the body of life and me + Her hands slid in and set me free. + + Ah, with a fearful, strange detection + She found the source of my subjection + To the All, and severed the connection. + + Delivered helpless and amazed + From the womb of the All, I am waiting, dazed + For memory to be erased. + + Then I shall know the Elysium + That lies outside the monstrous womb + Of time from out of which I come. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>MANIFESTO</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I + + A WOMAN has given me strength and affluence. + Admitted! + + All the rocking wheat of Canada, ripening now, + has not so much of strength as the body of one + woman + sweet in ear, nor so much to give + though it feed nations. + + Hunger is the very Satan. + The fear of hunger is Moloch, Belial, the horrible + God. + It is a fearful thing to be dominated by the fear of + hunger. + + Not bread alone, not the belly nor the thirsty + throat. + I have never yet been smitten through the belly, + with the lack of bread, + no, nor even milk and honey. + + The fear of the want of these things seems to be + quite left out of me. + For so much, I thank the good generations of man- + kind. + + II + + AND the sweet, constant, balanced heat + of the suave sensitive body, the hunger for this + has never seized me and terrified me. + Here again, man has been good in his legacy to us, + in these two primary instances. + + III + + THEN the dumb, aching, bitter, helpless need, + the pining to be initiated, + to have access to the knowledge that the great dead + have opened up for us, to know, to satisfy + the great and dominant hunger of the mind; + man's sweetest harvest of the centuries, sweet, + printed books, + bright, glancing, exquisite corn of many a stubborn + glebe in the upturned darkness; + I thank mankind with passionate heart + that I just escaped the hunger for these, + that they were given when I needed them, + because I am the son of man. + + I have eaten, and drunk, and warmed and clothed + my body, + I have been taught the language of understanding, + I have chosen among the bright and marvellous + books, + like any prince, such stores of the world's supply + were open to me, in the wisdom and goodness of + man. + So far, so good. + Wise, good provision that makes the heart swell + with love! + + IV + + BUT then came another hunger + very deep, and ravening; + the very body's body crying out + with a hunger more frightening, more profound + than stomach or throat or even the mind; + redder than death, more clamorous. + + The hunger for the woman. Alas, + it is so deep a Moloch, ruthless and strong, + 'tis like the unutterable name of the dread Lord, + not to be spoken aloud. + Yet there it is, the hunger which comes upon us, + which we must learn to satisfy with pure, real + satisfaction; + or perish, there is no alternative. + + I thought it was woman, indiscriminate woman, + mere female adjunct of what I was. + Ah, that was torment hard enough + and a thing to be afraid of, + a threatening, torturing, phallic Moloch. + + A woman fed that hunger in me at last. + What many women cannot give, one woman can; + so I have known it. + + She stood before me like riches that were mine. + Even then, in the dark, I was tortured, ravening, + unfree, + Ashamed, and shameful, and vicious. + A man is so terrified of strong hunger; + and this terror is the root of all cruelty. + She loved me, and stood before me, looking to me. + How could I look, when I was mad? I looked + sideways, furtively, + being mad with voracious desire. + + V + + THIS comes right at last. + When a man is rich, he loses at last the hunger fear. + I lost at last the fierceness that fears it will starve. + I could put my face at last between her breasts + and know that they were given for ever + that I should never starve + never perish; + I had eaten of the bread that satisfies + and my body's body was appeased, + there was peace and richness, + fulfilment. + + Let them praise desire who will, + but only fulfilment will do, + real fulfilment, nothing short. + It is our ratification + our heaven, as a matter of fact. + Immortality, the heaven, is only a projection of + this strange but actual fulfilment, + here in the flesh. + + So, another hunger was supplied, + and for this I have to thank one woman, + not mankind, for mankind would have prevented + me; + but one woman, + and these are my red-letter thanksgivings. + + VI + + To be, or not to be, is still the question. + This ache for being is the ultimate hunger. + And for myself, I can say "almost, almost, oh, + very nearly." + Yet something remains. + Something shall not always remain. + For the main already is fulfilment. + + What remains in me, is to be known even as I + know. + I know her now: or perhaps, I know my own + limitation against her. + + Plunging as I have done, over, over the brink + I have dropped at last headlong into nought, + plunging upon sheer hard extinction; + I have come, as it were, not to know, + died, as it were; ceased from knowing; surpassed + myself. + What can I say more, except that I know what it is + to surpass myself? + + It is a kind of death which is not death. + It is going a little beyond the bounds. + How can one speak, where there is a dumbness on + one's mouth? + I suppose, ultimately she is all beyond me, + she is all not-me, ultimately. + It is that that one comes to. + A curious agony, and a relief, when I touch that + which is not me in any sense, + it wounds me to death with my own not-being; + definite, inviolable limitation, + and something beyond, quite beyond, if you + understand what that means. + It is the major part of being, this having surpassed + oneself, + this having touched the edge of the beyond, and + perished, yet not perished. + + VII + + I WANT her though, to take the same from me. + She touches me as if I were herself, her own. + She has not realized yet, that fearful thing, that + I am the other, + she thinks we are all of one piece. + It is painfully untrue. + + I want her to touch me at last, ah, on the root and + quick of my darkness + and perish on me, as I have perished on her. + + Then, we shall be two and distinct, we shall have + each our separate being. + And that will be pure existence, real liberty. + Till then, we are confused, a mixture, unresolved, + unextricated one from the other. + It is in pure, unutterable resolvedness, distinction + of being, that one is free, + not in mixing, merging, not in similarity. + When she has put her hand on my secret, darkest + sources, the darkest outgoings, + when it has struck home to her, like a death, "this + is <i>him!</i>" + she has no part in it, no part whatever, + it is the terrible <i>other</i>, + when she knows the fearful <i>other flesh</i>, ah, dark- + ness unfathomable and fearful, contiguous and + concrete, + when she is slain against me, and lies in a heap + like one outside the house, + when she passes away as I have passed away + being pressed up against the <i>other</i>, + then I shall be glad, I shall not be confused with + her, + I shall be cleared, distinct, single as if burnished + in silver, + having no adherence, no adhesion anywhere, + one clear, burnished, isolated being, unique, + and she also, pure, isolated, complete, + two of us, unutterably distinguished, and in + unutterable conjunction. + + Then we shall be free, freer than angels, ah, + perfect. + + VIII + + AFTER that, there will only remain that all men + detach themselves and become unique, + that we are all detached, moving in freedom more + than the angels, + conditioned only by our own pure single being, + having no laws but the laws of our own being. + + Every human being will then be like a flower, + untrammelled. + Every movement will be direct. + Only to be will be such delight, we cover our faces + when we think of it + lest our faces betray us to some untimely fiend. + + Every man himself, and therefore, a surpassing + singleness of mankind. + The blazing tiger will spring upon the deer, un- + dimmed, + the hen will nestle over her chickens, + we shall love, we shall hate, + but it will be like music, sheer utterance, + issuing straight out of the unknown, + the lightning and the rainbow appearing in us + unbidden, unchecked, + like ambassadors. + + We shall not look before and after. + We shall <i>be</i>, <i>now</i>. + We shall know in full. + We, the mystic NOW. + + ZENNOR +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>AUTUMN RAIN</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE plane leaves + fall black and wet + on the lawn; + + The cloud sheaves + in heaven's fields set + droop and are drawn + + in falling seeds of rain; + the seed of heaven + on my face + + falling—I hear again + like echoes even + that softly pace + + Heaven's muffled floor, + the winds that tread + out all the grain + + of tears, the store + harvested + in the sheaves of pain + + caught up aloft: + the sheaves of dead + men that are slain + + now winnowed soft + on the floor of heaven; + manna invisible + + of all the pain + here to us given; + finely divisible + falling as rain. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>FROST FLOWERS</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IT is not long since, here among all these folk + in London, I should have held myself + of no account whatever, + but should have stood aside and made them way + thinking that they, perhaps, + had more right than I—for who was I? + + Now I see them just the same, and watch them. + But of what account do I hold them? + + Especially the young women. I look at them + as they dart and flash + before the shops, like wagtails on the edge of a + pool. + + If I pass them close, or any man, + like sharp, slim wagtails they flash a little aside + pretending to avoid us; yet all the time + calculating. + + They think that we adore them—alas, would it + were true! + + Probably they think all men adore them, + howsoever they pass by. + + What is it, that, from their faces fresh as spring, + such fair, fresh, alert, first-flower faces, + like lavender crocuses, snowdrops, like Roman + hyacinths, + scyllas and yellow-haired hellebore, jonquils, dim + anemones, + even the sulphur auriculas, + flowers that come first from the darkness, and feel + cold to the touch, + flowers scentless or pungent, ammoniacal almost; + what is it, that, from the faces of the fair young + women + comes like a pungent scent, a vibration beneath + that startles me, alarms me, stirs up a repulsion? + + They are the issue of acrid winter, these first- + flower young women; + their scent is lacerating and repellant, + it smells of burning snow, of hot-ache, + of earth, winter-pressed, strangled in corruption; + it is the scent of the fiery-cold dregs of corruption, + when destruction soaks through the mortified, + decomposing earth, + and the last fires of dissolution burn in the bosom + of the ground. + + They are the flowers of ice-vivid mortification, + thaw-cold, ice-corrupt blossoms, + with a loveliness I loathe; + for what kind of ice-rotten, hot-aching heart + must they need to root in! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>CRAVING FOR SPRING</i> + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I WISH it were spring in the world. + + Let it be spring! + Come, bubbling, surging tide of sap! + Come, rush of creation! + Come, life! surge through this mass of mortifica- + tion! + Come, sweep away these exquisite, ghastly first- + flowers, + which are rather last-flowers! + Come, thaw down their cool portentousness, + dissolve them: + snowdrops, straight, death-veined exhalations of + white and purple crocuses, + flowers of the penumbra, issue of corruption, + nourished in mortification, + jets of exquisite finality; + Come, spring, make havoc of them! + + I trample on the snowdrops, it gives me pleasure + to tread down the jonquils, + to destroy the chill Lent lilies; + for I am sick of them, their faint-bloodedness, + slow-blooded, icy-fleshed, portentous. + + I want the fine, kindling wine-sap of spring, + gold, and of inconceivably fine, quintessential + brightness, + rare almost as beams, yet overwhelmingly potent, + strong like the greatest force of world-balancing. + + This is the same that picks up the harvest of wheat + and rocks it, tons of grain, on the ripening wind; + the same that dangles the globe-shaped pleiads of + fruit + temptingly in mid-air, between a playful thumb and + finger; + oh, and suddenly, from out of nowhere, whirls + the pear-bloom, + upon us, and apple- and almond- and apricot- + and quince-blossom, + storms and cumulus clouds of all imaginable + blossom + about our bewildered faces, + though we do not worship. + + I wish it were spring + cunningly blowing on the fallen sparks, odds and + ends of the old, scattered fire, + and kindling shapely little conflagrations + curious long-legged foals, and wide-eared calves, + and naked sparrow-bubs. + + I wish that spring + would start the thundering traffic of feet + new feet on the earth, beating with impatience. + + I wish it were spring, thundering + delicate, tender spring. + I wish these brittle, frost-lovely flowers of pas- + sionate, mysterious corruption + were not yet to come still more from the still- + flickering discontent. + + Oh, in the spring, the bluebell bows him down for + very exuberance, + exulting with secret warm excess, + bowed down with his inner magnificence! + + Oh, yes, the gush of spring is strong enough + to toss the globe of earth like a ball on a water-jet + dancing sportfully; + as you see a tiny celluloid ball tossing on a squint + of water + for men to shoot at, penny-a-time, in a booth at a + fair. + + The gush of spring is strong enough + to play with the globe of earth like a ball on a + fountain; + At the same time it opens the tiny hands of the + hazel + with such infinite patience. + + The power of the rising, golden, all-creative sap + could take the earth + and heave it off among the stars, into the in- + visible; + the same sets the throstle at sunset on a bough + singing against the blackbird; + comes out in the hesitating tremor of the primrose, + and betrays its candour in the round white straw- + berry flower, + is dignified in the foxglove, like a Red-Indian + brave. + + Ah come, come quickly, spring! + Come and lift us towards our culmination, we + myriads; + we who have never flowered, like patient cactuses. + Come and lift us to our end, to blossom, bring us + to our summer + we who are winter-weary in the winter of the world. + Come making the chaffinch nests hollow and cosy, + come and soften the willow buds till they are + puffed and furred, + then blow them over with gold. + Come and cajole the gawky colt's-foot flowers. + + Come quickly, and vindicate us + against too much death. + Come quickly, and stir the rotten globe of the + world from within, + burst it with germination, with world anew. + Come now, to us, your adherents, who cannot + flower from the ice. + All the world gleams with the lilies of Death the + Unconquerable, + but come, give us our turn. + Enough of the virgins and lilies, of passionate, + suffocating perfume of corruption, + no more narcissus perfume, lily harlots, the blades + of sensation + piercing the flesh to blossom of death. + Have done, have done with this shuddering, + delicious business + of thrilling ruin in the flesh, of pungent passion, + of rare, death-edged ecstasy. + Give us our turn, give us a chance, let our hour + strike, + O soon, soon! + + Let the darkness turn violet with rich dawn. + Let the darkness be warmed, warmed through to a + ruddy violet, + incipient purpling towards summer in the world + of the heart of man. + + Are the violets already here! + Show me! I tremble so much to hear it, that even + now + on the threshold of spring, I fear I shall die. + Show me the violets that are out. + + Oh, if it be true, and the living darkness of the + blood of man is purpling with violets, + if the violets are coming out from under the rack + of men, winter-rotten and fallen + we shall have spring. + Pray not to die on this Pisgah blossoming with + violets. + Pray to live through. + + If you catch a whiff of violets from the darkness of + the shadow of man + it will be spring in the world, + it will be spring in the world of the living; + wonderment organising itself, heralding itself with + the violets, + stirring of new seasons. + + Ah, do not let me die on the brink of such + anticipation! + Worse, let me not deceive myself. + + ZENNOR +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Look! + We + Have + Come + Through! + + D.H. LAWRENCE +</pre> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOOK! 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