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LAWRENCE, D. H.


Gloire de Dijon

When she rises in the morning

I linger to watch her;

She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window

And the sunbeams catch her

Glistening white on the shoulders,

While down her sides the mellow

Golden shadow glows as

She stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts

Sway like full-blown yellow

Gloire de Dijon roses.

She drips herself with water, and her shoulders

Glisten as silver, they crumple up

Like wet and falling roses, and I listen

For the sluicing of their rain-dishevelled petals.

In the window full of sunlight

Concentrates her golden shadow

Fold on fold, until it glows as

Mellow as the glory roses.



A Love Song

Reject me not if I should say to you

I do forget the sounding of your voice,

I do forget your eyes that searching through

The mists perceive our marriage, and rejoice.

Yet, when the apple-blossom opens wide

Under the pallid moonlight’s fingering,

I see your blanched face at my breast, and hide

My eyes from diligent work, malingering.

Ah, then, upon my bedroom I do draw

The blind to hide the garden, where the moon

Enjoys the open blossoms as they straw

Their beauty for his taking, boon for boon.

And I do lift my aching arms to you,

And I do lift my anguished, avid breast,

And I do weep for very pain of you,

And fling myself at the doors of sleep, for rest.

And I do toss through the troubled night for you,

Dreaming your yielded mouth is given to mine,

Feeling your strong breast carry me on into

The peace where sleep is stronger even than wine.


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O the stale old dogs who pretend to guard

the morals of the masses,

how smelly they make the great back-yard

wetting after everyone that passes.