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Look! We Have Come Through! By: D. H. Lawrence (1885-1930) |
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LOOK! WE HAVE COME THROUGH! by D. H. LAWRENCE Published by Chatto & Windus
London MCMXVII Some of these poems have appeared in
the "English Review" and in "Poetry,"
also in the "Georgian Anthology" and
the "Imagist Anthology" FOREWORD 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 CONTENTS
MOONRISE
ELEGY
NONENTITY
MARTYR A LA MODE
DON JUAN
THE SEA
HYMN TO PRIAPUS
BALLAD OF A WILFUL WOMAN
FIRST MORNING
"AND OH
THAT THE MAN I AM MIGHT CEASE TO BE "
SHE LOOKS BACK
ON THE BALCONY
FROHNLEICHNAM
IN THE DARK
MUTILATION
HUMILIATION
A YOUNG WIFE
GREEN
RIVER ROSES
GLOIRE DE DIJON
ROSES ON THE BREAKFAST TABLE
I AM LIKE A ROSE
ROSE OF ALL THE WORLD
A YOUTH MOWING
QUITE FORSAKEN
FORSAKEN AND FORLORN
FIREFLIES IN THE CORN
A DOE AT EVENING
SONG OF A MAN WHO IS NOT LOVED
SINNERS
MISERY
SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN ITALY
WINTER DAWN
A BAD BEGINNING
WHY DOES SHE WEEP?
GIORNO DEI MORTI
ALL SOULS
LADY WIFE
BOTH SIDES OF THE MEDAL
LOGGERHEADS
DECEMBER NIGHT
NEW YEAR'S EVE
NEW YEAR'S NIGHT
VALENTINE'S NIGHT
BIRTH NIGHT
RABBIT SNARED IN THE NIGHT
PARADISE RE ENTERED
SPRING MORNING
WEDLOCK
HISTORY
SONG OF A MAN WHO HAS COME THROUGH
ONE WOMAN TO ALL WOMEN
PEOPLE
STREET LAMPS
"SHE SAID AS WELL TO ME"
NEW HEAVEN AND EARTH
ELYSIUM
MANIFESTO
AUTUMN RAIN
FROST FLOWERS
CRAVING FOR SPRING ARGUMENT 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 MOONRISE 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.
ELEGY 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
NONENTITY
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!
MARTYR À LA MODE 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... Continue reading book >>
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Literature |
Poetry |
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