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Full Online Book HomePoems"and Oh--that The Man I Am Might Cease To Be--"
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'and Oh--that The Man I Am Might Cease To Be--' Post by :SimonUK71 Category :Poems Author :D. H. Lawrence Date :December 2010 Read :4224

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"and Oh--that The Man I Am Might Cease To Be--"

No, now I wish the sunshine would stop,
and the white shining houses, and the gay red flowers on the balconies
and the bluish mountains beyond, would be crushed out
between two valves of darkness;
the darkness falling, the darkness rising, with muffled sound
obliterating everything.

I wish that whatever props up the walls of light
would fall, and darkness would come hurling heavily down,
and it would be thick black dark for ever.
Not sleep, which is grey with dreams,
nor death, which quivers with birth,
but heavy, sealing darkness, silence, all immovable.

What is sleep?
It goes over me, like a shadow over a hill,
but it does not alter me, nor help me.
And death would ache still, I am sure;
it would be lambent, uneasy.
I wish it would be completely dark everywhere,
inside me, and out, heavily dark utterly.


(The end)
D. H. Lawrence's poem: "and Oh--That The Man I Am Might Cease To Be--"

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She Looks Back She Looks Back

She Looks Back
THE pale bubblesThe lovely pale-gold bubbles of the globe-flowersIn a great swarm clotted and singleWent rolling in the dusk towards the riverTo where the sunset hung its wan gold cloths;And you stood alone, watching them go,And that mother-love like a demon drew you from meTowards England.Along the road, after nightfall,Along the glamorous birch-tree avenueAcross the river levelsWe went in silence, and you staring to England.So then there shone within the jungle darknessOf the long, lush under-grass, a glow-worm's suddenGreen lantern of pure light, a little, intense, fusing triumph,White and haloed with fire-mist, down in the tangled darkness.Then you put your hand

First Morning First Morning

First Morning
THE night was a failure but why not--?In the darkness with the pale dawn seething at the window through the black frame I could not be free, not free myself from the past, those others-- and our love was a confusion, there was a horror, you recoiled away from me.Now, in the morningAs we sit in the sunshine on the seat by the little shrine,And look at the mountain-walls,Walls of blue shadow,And see so near at our feet in the meadowMyriads of dandelion pappusBubbles ravelled in the dark green grassHeld still beneath the sunshine--It is enough, you are near--The mountains are