D. H. Lawrence
Ah stern cold man,How can you lie so relentless hardWhile I wash you with weeping water!Ah face, carved hard and cold,You have been like this, on your guardAgainst me, since death began.You masquerader!How can you shame to act this partOf unswerving indifference to me?It is not you; why disguise yourselfAgainst me, to break my heart,You evader?You’ve a warm mouth,A good warm mouth always sooner to softenEven than your sudden eyes.Ah cruel, to keep your mouthRelentless, however oftenI kiss it in drouth.You are not he.Who are you, lying in his place on the bedAnd rigid and indifferent to me?His mouth, though he laughed or sulked,Was always warm and redAnd good to me.And his eyes could seeThe white moon hang like a breast revealedBy the slipping shawl of stars,Could see the small stars trembleAs the heart beneath did wieldSystole, diastole.And he showed it meSo, when he made his love to me;And his brows like rocks on the sea jut out,And his eyes were deep like the seaWith shadow, and he looked at me,Till I sank in him like the sea,Awfully.Oh, he was multiform—Which then was he among the manifold?The gay, the sorrowful, the seer?I have loved a rich race of men in one—But not this, this never-warmMetal-cold—!Ah masquerader!With your steel face white-enamelled,Were you he, after all, and I neverSaw you or felt you in kissing?—Yet sometimes my heart was trammelledWith fear, evader!Then was it youAfter all, this cold, hard man?—Ah no, look up at me,Tell me it isn’t true,That you’re only frightening me!You will not stir,Nor hear me, not a sound.—Then it was you—And all this time you wereLike this when I lived with you.It is not true,I am frightened, I am frightened of youAnd of everything.O God!—God tooHas deceived me in everything,In everything.
Ah stern cold man,How can you lie so relentless hardWhile I wash you with weeping water!Ah face, carved hard and cold,You have been like this, on your guardAgainst me, since death began.You masquerader!How can you shame to act this partOf unswerving indifference to me?It is not you; why disguise yourselfAgainst me, to break my heart,You evader?You’ve a warm mouth,A good warm mouth always sooner to softenEven than your sudden eyes.Ah cruel, to keep your mouthRelentless, however oftenI kiss it in drouth.You are not he.Who are you, lying in his place on the bedAnd rigid and indifferent to me?His mouth, though he laughed or sulked,Was always warm and redAnd good to me.And his eyes could seeThe white moon hang like a breast revealedBy the slipping shawl of stars,Could see the small stars trembleAs the heart beneath did wieldSystole, diastole.And he showed it meSo, when he made his love to me;And his brows like rocks on the sea jut out,And his eyes were deep like the seaWith shadow, and he looked at me,Till I sank in him like the sea,Awfully.Oh, he was multiform—Which then was he among the manifold?The gay, the sorrowful, the seer?I have loved a rich race of men in one—But not this, this never-warmMetal-cold—!Ah masquerader!With your steel face white-enamelled,Were you he, after all, and I neverSaw you or felt you in kissing?—Yet sometimes my heart was trammelledWith fear, evader!Then was it youAfter all, this cold, hard man?—Ah no, look up at me,Tell me it isn’t true,That you’re only frightening me!You will not stir,Nor hear me, not a sound.—Then it was you—And all this time you wereLike this when I lived with you.It is not true,I am frightened, I am frightened of youAnd of everything.O God!—God tooHas deceived me in everything,In everything.
Ah stern cold man,How can you lie so relentless hardWhile I wash you with weeping water!Ah face, carved hard and cold,You have been like this, on your guardAgainst me, since death began.
Ah stern cold man,
How can you lie so relentless hard
While I wash you with weeping water!
Ah face, carved hard and cold,
You have been like this, on your guard
Against me, since death began.
You masquerader!How can you shame to act this partOf unswerving indifference to me?It is not you; why disguise yourselfAgainst me, to break my heart,You evader?
You masquerader!
How can you shame to act this part
Of unswerving indifference to me?
It is not you; why disguise yourself
Against me, to break my heart,
You evader?
You’ve a warm mouth,A good warm mouth always sooner to softenEven than your sudden eyes.Ah cruel, to keep your mouthRelentless, however oftenI kiss it in drouth.
You’ve a warm mouth,
A good warm mouth always sooner to soften
Even than your sudden eyes.
Ah cruel, to keep your mouth
Relentless, however often
I kiss it in drouth.
You are not he.Who are you, lying in his place on the bedAnd rigid and indifferent to me?His mouth, though he laughed or sulked,Was always warm and redAnd good to me.
You are not he.
Who are you, lying in his place on the bed
And rigid and indifferent to me?
His mouth, though he laughed or sulked,
Was always warm and red
And good to me.
And his eyes could seeThe white moon hang like a breast revealedBy the slipping shawl of stars,Could see the small stars trembleAs the heart beneath did wieldSystole, diastole.
And his eyes could see
The white moon hang like a breast revealed
By the slipping shawl of stars,
Could see the small stars tremble
As the heart beneath did wield
Systole, diastole.
And he showed it meSo, when he made his love to me;And his brows like rocks on the sea jut out,And his eyes were deep like the seaWith shadow, and he looked at me,Till I sank in him like the sea,Awfully.
And he showed it me
So, when he made his love to me;
And his brows like rocks on the sea jut out,
And his eyes were deep like the sea
With shadow, and he looked at me,
Till I sank in him like the sea,
Awfully.
Oh, he was multiform—Which then was he among the manifold?The gay, the sorrowful, the seer?I have loved a rich race of men in one—But not this, this never-warmMetal-cold—!
Oh, he was multiform—
Which then was he among the manifold?
The gay, the sorrowful, the seer?
I have loved a rich race of men in one—
But not this, this never-warm
Metal-cold—!
Ah masquerader!With your steel face white-enamelled,Were you he, after all, and I neverSaw you or felt you in kissing?—Yet sometimes my heart was trammelledWith fear, evader!
Ah masquerader!
With your steel face white-enamelled,
Were you he, after all, and I never
Saw you or felt you in kissing?
—Yet sometimes my heart was trammelled
With fear, evader!
Then was it youAfter all, this cold, hard man?—Ah no, look up at me,Tell me it isn’t true,That you’re only frightening me!
Then was it you
After all, this cold, hard man?
—Ah no, look up at me,
Tell me it isn’t true,
That you’re only frightening me!
You will not stir,Nor hear me, not a sound.—Then it was you—And all this time you wereLike this when I lived with you.
You will not stir,
Nor hear me, not a sound.
—Then it was you—
And all this time you were
Like this when I lived with you.
It is not true,I am frightened, I am frightened of youAnd of everything.O God!—God tooHas deceived me in everything,In everything.
It is not true,
I am frightened, I am frightened of you
And of everything.
O God!—God too
Has deceived me in everything,
In everything.
A woman taunts her lover:Look at the little darlings in the corn!The rye is taller than you, who think yourselfSo high and mighty: look how its heads are borneDark and proud on the sky, like a number of knightsPassing with spears and pennants and manly scorn.And always likely!—Oh, if I could rideWith my head held high-serene against the skyDo you think I’d have a creature like you at my sideWith your gloom and your doubt that you love me?O darling rye,How I adore you for your simple pride!And those bright fireflies wafting in betweenAnd over the swaying cornstalks, just aboveAll their dark-feathered helmets, like little greenStars come low and wandering here for loveOf this dark earth, and wandering all serene—!How I adore you, you happy things, you dears,Riding the air and carrying all the timeYour little lanterns behind you: it cheersMy heart to see you settling and trying to climbThe corn-stalks, tipping with fire their spears.All over the corn’s dim motion, against the blueDark sky of night, the wandering glitter, the swarmOf questing brilliant things:—you joy, you trueSpirit of careless joy: ah, how I warmMy poor and perished soul at the joy of you!The man answers and she mocks:You’re a fool, woman. I love you, and you know I do!—Lord, take his love away, it makes him whine.And I give you everything that you want me to.—Lord, dear Lord, do you think he evercanshine?
A woman taunts her lover:Look at the little darlings in the corn!The rye is taller than you, who think yourselfSo high and mighty: look how its heads are borneDark and proud on the sky, like a number of knightsPassing with spears and pennants and manly scorn.And always likely!—Oh, if I could rideWith my head held high-serene against the skyDo you think I’d have a creature like you at my sideWith your gloom and your doubt that you love me?O darling rye,How I adore you for your simple pride!And those bright fireflies wafting in betweenAnd over the swaying cornstalks, just aboveAll their dark-feathered helmets, like little greenStars come low and wandering here for loveOf this dark earth, and wandering all serene—!How I adore you, you happy things, you dears,Riding the air and carrying all the timeYour little lanterns behind you: it cheersMy heart to see you settling and trying to climbThe corn-stalks, tipping with fire their spears.All over the corn’s dim motion, against the blueDark sky of night, the wandering glitter, the swarmOf questing brilliant things:—you joy, you trueSpirit of careless joy: ah, how I warmMy poor and perished soul at the joy of you!The man answers and she mocks:You’re a fool, woman. I love you, and you know I do!—Lord, take his love away, it makes him whine.And I give you everything that you want me to.—Lord, dear Lord, do you think he evercanshine?
A woman taunts her lover:Look at the little darlings in the corn!The rye is taller than you, who think yourselfSo high and mighty: look how its heads are borneDark and proud on the sky, like a number of knightsPassing with spears and pennants and manly scorn.
A woman taunts her lover:
Look at the little darlings in the corn!
The rye is taller than you, who think yourself
So high and mighty: look how its heads are borne
Dark and proud on the sky, like a number of knights
Passing with spears and pennants and manly scorn.
And always likely!—Oh, if I could rideWith my head held high-serene against the skyDo you think I’d have a creature like you at my sideWith your gloom and your doubt that you love me?O darling rye,How I adore you for your simple pride!
And always likely!—Oh, if I could ride
With my head held high-serene against the sky
Do you think I’d have a creature like you at my side
With your gloom and your doubt that you love me?
O darling rye,
How I adore you for your simple pride!
And those bright fireflies wafting in betweenAnd over the swaying cornstalks, just aboveAll their dark-feathered helmets, like little greenStars come low and wandering here for loveOf this dark earth, and wandering all serene—!
And those bright fireflies wafting in between
And over the swaying cornstalks, just above
All their dark-feathered helmets, like little green
Stars come low and wandering here for love
Of this dark earth, and wandering all serene—!
How I adore you, you happy things, you dears,Riding the air and carrying all the timeYour little lanterns behind you: it cheersMy heart to see you settling and trying to climbThe corn-stalks, tipping with fire their spears.All over the corn’s dim motion, against the blueDark sky of night, the wandering glitter, the swarmOf questing brilliant things:—you joy, you trueSpirit of careless joy: ah, how I warmMy poor and perished soul at the joy of you!
How I adore you, you happy things, you dears,
Riding the air and carrying all the time
Your little lanterns behind you: it cheers
My heart to see you settling and trying to climb
The corn-stalks, tipping with fire their spears.
All over the corn’s dim motion, against the blue
Dark sky of night, the wandering glitter, the swarm
Of questing brilliant things:—you joy, you true
Spirit of careless joy: ah, how I warm
My poor and perished soul at the joy of you!
The man answers and she mocks:You’re a fool, woman. I love you, and you know I do!—Lord, take his love away, it makes him whine.And I give you everything that you want me to.—Lord, dear Lord, do you think he evercanshine?
The man answers and she mocks:
You’re a fool, woman. I love you, and you know I do!
—Lord, take his love away, it makes him whine.
And I give you everything that you want me to.
—Lord, dear Lord, do you think he evercanshine?
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 greenThey shone, clear like flowers undoneFor the first time, now for the first time seen.
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 greenThey shone, clear like flowers undoneFor the first time, now for the first time seen.
The dawn was apple-green,The sky was green wine held up in the sun,The moon was a golden petal between.
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 greenThey shone, clear like flowers undoneFor the first time, now for the first time seen.
She opened her eyes, and green
They shone, clear like flowers undone
For the first time, now for the first time seen.
The darkness steals the forms of all the queens.But oh, the palms of her two black hands are red!It is Death I fear so much, it is not the dead—Not this gray book, but the red and bloody scenes.The lamps are white like snowdrops in the grass;The town is like a churchyard, all so stillAnd gray, now night is here: nor willAnother torn red sunset come to pass.And so I sit and turn the book of gray,Feeling the shadows like a blind man reading,All fearful lest I find some next word bleeding.Nay, take my painted missal book away.
The darkness steals the forms of all the queens.But oh, the palms of her two black hands are red!It is Death I fear so much, it is not the dead—Not this gray book, but the red and bloody scenes.The lamps are white like snowdrops in the grass;The town is like a churchyard, all so stillAnd gray, now night is here: nor willAnother torn red sunset come to pass.And so I sit and turn the book of gray,Feeling the shadows like a blind man reading,All fearful lest I find some next word bleeding.Nay, take my painted missal book away.
The darkness steals the forms of all the queens.But oh, the palms of her two black hands are red!It is Death I fear so much, it is not the dead—Not this gray book, but the red and bloody scenes.
The darkness steals the forms of all the queens.
But oh, the palms of her two black hands are red!
It is Death I fear so much, it is not the dead—
Not this gray book, but the red and bloody scenes.
The lamps are white like snowdrops in the grass;The town is like a churchyard, all so stillAnd gray, now night is here: nor willAnother torn red sunset come to pass.
The lamps are white like snowdrops in the grass;
The town is like a churchyard, all so still
And gray, now night is here: nor will
Another torn red sunset come to pass.
And so I sit and turn the book of gray,Feeling the shadows like a blind man reading,All fearful lest I find some next word bleeding.Nay, take my painted missal book away.
And so I sit and turn the book of gray,
Feeling the shadows like a blind man reading,
All fearful lest I find some next word bleeding.
Nay, take my painted missal book away.
SERVICE OF ALL THE DEAD
Between the avenue of cypressesAll in their scarlet capes and surplicesOf linen, go the chaunting choristers,The priests in gold and black, the villagers.And all along the path to the cemeteryThe round dark heads of men crowd silently;And black-scarfed faces of women-folk wistfullyWatch at the banner of death, and the mystery.And at the foot of a grave a father standsWith sunken head and forgotten, folded hands;And at the foot of a grave a mother kneelsWith pale shut face, nor neither hears nor feelsThe coming of the chaunting choristersBetween the avenue of cypresses,The silence of the many villagers,The candle-flames beside the surplices.
Between the avenue of cypressesAll in their scarlet capes and surplicesOf linen, go the chaunting choristers,The priests in gold and black, the villagers.And all along the path to the cemeteryThe round dark heads of men crowd silently;And black-scarfed faces of women-folk wistfullyWatch at the banner of death, and the mystery.And at the foot of a grave a father standsWith sunken head and forgotten, folded hands;And at the foot of a grave a mother kneelsWith pale shut face, nor neither hears nor feelsThe coming of the chaunting choristersBetween the avenue of cypresses,The silence of the many villagers,The candle-flames beside the surplices.
Between the avenue of cypressesAll in their scarlet capes and surplicesOf linen, go the chaunting choristers,The priests in gold and black, the villagers.
Between the avenue of cypresses
All in their scarlet capes and surplices
Of linen, go the chaunting choristers,
The priests in gold and black, the villagers.
And all along the path to the cemeteryThe round dark heads of men crowd silently;And black-scarfed faces of women-folk wistfullyWatch at the banner of death, and the mystery.
And all along the path to the cemetery
The round dark heads of men crowd silently;
And black-scarfed faces of women-folk wistfully
Watch at the banner of death, and the mystery.
And at the foot of a grave a father standsWith sunken head and forgotten, folded hands;And at the foot of a grave a mother kneelsWith pale shut face, nor neither hears nor feels
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 neither hears nor feels
The coming of the chaunting choristersBetween the avenue of cypresses,The silence of the many villagers,The candle-flames beside the surplices.
The coming of the chaunting choristers
Between the avenue of cypresses,
The silence of the many villagers,
The candle-flames beside the surplices.