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    Amores Poems
    Amores Poems
    Amores Poems
    Ebook124 pages54 minutes

    Amores Poems

    By D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateJan 1, 1916
    Amores Poems

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      Book preview

      Amores Poems - D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence

      The Project Gutenberg eBook, Amores, by D. H. Lawrence

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Amores Poems

      Author: D. H. Lawrence

      Release Date: September 7, 2007 [eBook #22531]

      Language: English

      ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMORES***

      E-text prepared by Lewis Jones

      D. H. Lawrence (1916) Amores

      AMORES

      Poems

      by

      D. H. LAWRENCE

      New York B. W. Huebsch 1916

      Copyright, 1916, by

      D. H. Lawrence

      TO

      OTTOLINE MORRELL

      IN TRIBUTE

      TO HER NOBLE

      AND INDEPENDENT SYMPATHY

      AND HER GENEROUS UNDERSTANDING

      THESE POEMS

      ARE GRATEFULLY DEDICATED

      CONTENTS

         Tease

         The Wild Common

         Study

         Discord in Childhood

         Virgin Youth

         Monologue of a Mother

         In a Boat

         Week-night Service

         Irony

         Dreams Old

         Dreams Nascent

         A Winter's Tale

         Epilogue

         A Baby Running Barefoot

         Discipline

         Scent of Irises

         The Prophet

         Last Words to Miriam

         Mystery

         Patience

         Ballad of Another Ophelia

         Restlessness

         A Baby Asleep After Pain

         Anxiety

         The Punisher

         The End

         The Bride

         The Virgin Mother

         At the Window

         Drunk

         Sorrow

         Dolor of Autumn

         The Inheritance

         Silence

         Listening

         Brooding Grief

         Lotus Hurt by the Cold

         Malade

         Liaison

         Troth with the Dead

         Dissolute

         Submergence

         The Enkindled Spring

         Reproach

         The Hands of the Betrothed

         Excursion

         Perfidy

         A Spiritual Woman

         Mating

         A Love Song

         Brother and Sister

         After Many Days

         Blue

         Snap-Dragon

         A Passing Bell

         In Trouble and Shame

         Elegy

         Grey Evening

         Firelight and Nightfall

         The Mystic Blue

      AMORES

      TEASE

      I WILL give you all my keys,

        You shall be my châtelaine,

      You shall enter as you please,

        As you please shall go again.

      When I hear you jingling through

        All the chambers of my soul,

      How I sit and laugh at you

        In your vain housekeeping rôle.

      Jealous of the smallest cover,

        Angry at the simplest door;

      Well, you anxious, inquisitive lover,

        Are you pleased with what's in store?

      You have fingered all my treasures,

        Have you not, most curiously,

      Handled all my tools and measures

        And masculine machinery?

      Over every single beauty

        You have had your little rapture;

      You have slain, as was your duty,

        Every sin-mouse you could capture.

      Still you are not satisfied,

        Still you tremble faint reproach;

      Challenge me I keep aside

        Secrets that you may not broach.

      Maybe yes, and maybe no,

        Maybe there are secret places,

      Altars barbarous below,

        Elsewhere halls of high disgraces.

      Maybe yes, and maybe no,

        You may have it as you please,

      Since I choose to keep you so,

        Suppliant on your curious knees.

      THE WILD COMMON

      THE quick sparks on the gorse bushes are leaping,

      Little jets of sunlight-texture imitating flame;

      Above them, exultant, the pee-wits are sweeping:

      They are lords of the desolate wastes of sadness

          their screamings proclaim.

      Rabbits, handfuls of brown earth, lie Low-rounded on the mournful grass they have bitten down to the quick. Are they asleep?—Are they alive?—Now see, when I Move my arms the hill bursts and heaves under their spurting kick.

      The common flaunts bravely; but below, from the rushes Crowds of glittering king-cups surge to challenge the blossoming bushes; There the lazy streamlet pushes Its curious course mildly; here it wakes again, leaps, laughs, and gushes.

      Into a deep pond, an old sheep-dip, Dark, overgrown with willows, cool, with the brook ebbing through so slow, Naked on the steep, soft lip Of the bank I stand watching my own white shadow quivering to and fro.

      What if the gorse flowers shrivelled and kissing were lost? Without the pulsing waters, where were the marigolds and the songs of the brook? If my veins and my breasts with love embossed Withered, my insolent soul would be gone like flowers that the hot wind took.

      So my soul like a passionate woman turns,

      Filled with remorseful terror to the man she scorned,

          and her love

      For myself in my own eyes' laughter burns,

      Runs ecstatic over the pliant folds rippling down to

          my belly from the breast-lights above.

      Over my sunlit skin the warm, clinging air, Rich with the songs of seven larks singing at once, goes kissing me glad. And the soul of the wind and my blood compare Their wandering happiness, and the wind, wasted in liberty, drifts on and is sad.

      Oh but the water loves me and folds me, Plays with me, sways me, lifts me and sinks me as though it were living blood, Blood of a heaving woman who holds me,

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