The Poetry of D. H. Lawrence. D. H. Lawrence
Чтение книги онлайн.

Читать онлайн книгу The Poetry of D. H. Lawrence - D. H. Lawrence страница 47

Название: The Poetry of D. H. Lawrence

Автор: D. H. Lawrence

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

Серия:

isbn: 4064066052133

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ 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. 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. GARGNANO

      Winter Dawn

       Table of Contents

      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.

      A BAD BEGINNING 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 drumming From Austria. There lies the world, and here Am I. Which way are you coming?

      Why Does She Weep?

       Table of Contents

      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.

      Giorno Dei Morti

       Table of Contents

      ALONG the avenue of cypresses

       All in their scarlet cloaks, and surplices

       Of linen go the chanting choristers,

       The priests in gold СКАЧАТЬ