The Poetry of D. H. Lawrence. D. H. Lawrence

The hours have ceased to fall, and a star commands

       Shadows to cover our stricken manhood, and blest

       Sleep to make us forget: but he understands:

       To-morrow will pour them all back, the dull hours I detest.

      Tommies In The Train

       Table of Contents

      THE SUN SHINES,

       The coltsfoot flowers along the railway banks

       Shine like flat coin which Jove in thanks

       Strews each side the lines.

       A steeple

       In purple elms, daffodils

       Sparkle beneath; luminous hills

       Beyond—and no people.

       England, Oh Danaë

       To this spring of cosmic gold

       That falls on your lap of mould!

       What then are we?

       What are we

       Clay-coloured, who roll in fatigue

       As the train falls league by league

       From our destiny?

       A hand is over my face,

       A cold hand. I peep between the fingers

       To watch the world that lingers

       Behind, yet keeps pace.

       Always there, as I peep

       Between the fingers that cover my face!

       Which then is it that falls from its place

       And rolls down the steep?

       Is it the train

       That falls like meteorite

       Backward into space, to alight

       Never again?

       Or is it the illusory world

       That falls from reality

       As we look? Or are we

       Like a thunderbolt hurled?

       One or another

       Is lost, since we fall apart

       Endlessly, in one motion depart

       From each other.

      War-baby

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      THE CHILD like mustard-seed

       Rolls out of the husk of death

       Into the woman's fertile, fathomless lap.

       Look, it has taken root!

       See how it flourisheth.

       See how it rises with magical, rosy sap!

       As for our faith, it was there

       When we did not know, did not care;

       It fell from our husk like a little, hasty seed.

       Sing, it is all we need.

       Sing, for the little weed

       Will flourish its branches in heaven when we

       slumber beneath.