The Poetry of D. H. Lawrence. D. H. Lawrence
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Название: The Poetry of D. H. Lawrence

Автор: D. H. Lawrence

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

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isbn: 4064066052133

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СКАЧАТЬ Such as lies along the folded wings

       Of the bee before he flies.

       Who, with a ruffling, careful breath,

       Has opened the wings of the wild young sprite?

       Has fluttered her spirit to stumbling flight

       In her eyes, as a young bee stumbleth?

       Love makes the burden of her voice.

       The hum of his heavy, staggering wings

       Sets quivering with wisdom the common things

       That she says, and her words rejoice.

      Birdcage Walk

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      WHEN the wind blows her veil

       And uncovers her laughter

       I cease, I turn pale.

       When the wind blows her veil

       From the woes I bewail

       Of love and hereafter:

       When the wind blows her veil

       I cease, I turn pale.

      Letter from Town: The

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      ALMOND TREE

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

       White ones and blue ones from under the orchard hedge?

       Sweet dark purple, and white ones mixed for a pledge

       Of our early love that hardly has opened yet.

       Here there's an almond tree—you have never seen

       Such a one in the north—it flowers on the street, and I stand

       Every day by the fence to look up for the flowers that expand

       At rest in the blue, and wonder at what they mean.

       Under the almond tree, the happy lands

       Provence, Japan, and Italy repose,

       And passing feet are chatter and clapping of those

       Who play around us, country girls clapping their hands.

       You, my love, the foremost, in a flowered gown,

       All your unbearable tenderness, you with the laughter

       Startled upon your eyes now so wide with here-after,

       You with loose hands of abandonment hanging down.

      Flat Suburbs, S.W., In The

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      MORNING

      THE new red houses spring like plants

       In level rows

       Of reddish herbage that bristles and slants

       Its square shadows.

       The pink young houses show one side bright

       Flatly assuming the sun,

       And one side shadow, half in sight,

       Half-hiding the pavement-run;

       Where hastening creatures pass intent

       On their level way,

       Threading like ants that can never relent

       And have nothing to say.

       Bare stems of street-lamps stiffly stand

       At random, desolate twigs,

       To testify to a blight on the land

       That has stripped their sprigs.

      Thief in the Night

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      LAST night a thief came to me

       And struck at me with something dark.

       I cried, but no one could hear me,

       I lay dumb and stark.

       When I awoke this morning

       I could find no trace;

       Perhaps 'twas a dream of warning,

       For I've lost my peace.

      Letter From Town: On A

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      GREY EVENING IN MARCH

      THE clouds are pushing in grey reluctance slowly

       northward to you,

       While north of them all, at the farthest ends,

       stands one bright-bosomed, aglance

       With fire as it guards the wild north cloud-coasts,

       red-fire seas running through

       The rocks where ravens flying to windward melt

       as a well-shot lance.

       You should be out by the orchard, where violets

       secretly darken the earth,

       Or there in the woods of the twilight, with

       northern wind-flowers shaken astir.

       Think of me here in the library, trying and trying

       a song that is worth

       СКАЧАТЬ