Life poems
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Virgin Youth
© David Herbert Lawrence
Now and again
All my body springs alive,
And the life that is polarised in my eyes,
That quivers between my eyes and mouth,
Tortoise Shout
© David Herbert Lawrence
War-cry, triumph, acute-delight, death-scream reptilian,
Why was the veil torn?
The silken shriek of the soul's torn membrane?
The male soul's membrane
Torn with a shriek half music, half horror.
Bat
© David Herbert Lawrence
At evening, sitting on this terrace,
When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara
Departs, and the world is taken by surprise ...
Break of Day in the Trenches
© Isaac Rosenberg
The darkness crumbles away
It is the same old druid Time as ever,
Cruelty and Love
© David Herbert Lawrence
What large, dark hands are those at the window
Lifted, grasping in the yellow light
Which makes its way through the curtain web
At my heart to-night?
Thought
© David Herbert Lawrence
Thought, I love thought.
But not the juggling and twisting of already existent ideas
I despise that self-important game.
Thought is the welling up of unknown life into consciousness,
Tortoise Family Connections
© David Herbert Lawrence
On he goes, the little one,
Bud of the universe,
Pediment of life.
Setting off somewhere, apparently.
Whither away, brisk egg?
The Dead Christ
© Julia Ward Howe
Take the dead Christ to my chamber,
The Christ I brought from Rome;
We are Transmitters
© David Herbert Lawrence
And if, as we work, we can transmit life into our work,
life, still more life, rushes into us to compensate, to be ready
and we ripple with life through the days.
If You are a Man
© David Herbert Lawrence
If you are a man, and believe in the destiny of mankind
then say to yourself: we will cease to care
about property and money and mechanical devices,
and open our consciousness to the deep, mysterious life
that we are now cut off from.
Drunk
© David Herbert Lawrence
Too far away, oh love, I know,
To save me from this haunted road,
Whose lofty roses break and blow
On a night-sky bent with a load
The Witch's Frolic
© Richard Harris Barham
Thou mayest have read, my little boy Ned,
Though thy mother thine idlesse blames,
In Doctor Goldsmith's history book,
Of a gentleman called King James,
In quilted doublet, and great trunk breeches,
Who held in abhorrence tobacco and witches.
How Beastly The Bourgeois Is
© David Herbert Lawrence
Isn't he handsome? Isn't he healthy? Isn't he a fine specimen?
Doesn't he look the fresh clean Englishman, outside?
Isn't it God's own image? tramping his thirty miles a day
after partridges, or a little rubber ball?
wouldn't you like to be like that, well off, and quite the
thing
Love And Loss
© Madison Julius Cawein
Loss molds our lives in many ways,
And fills our souls with guesses;
Upon our hearts sad hands it lays
Like some grave priest that blesses.
Baby Tortoise
© David Herbert Lawrence
You know what it is to be born alone,
Baby tortoise!
The first day to heave your feet little by little from the shell,
Not yet awake,
And remain lapsed on earth,
Not quite alive.
A Baby Asleep after Pain
© David Herbert Lawrence
As a drenched, drowned bee
Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower,
So clings to me
My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears
The Me Within Thee Blind!
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Since God is lost, then all is lost indeed.
You did not know the comfort or the need
Of God for me, who am so frail and weak.
Blown by all winds, I know not where to seek.
Beautiful Old Age
© David Herbert Lawrence
It ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.
