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Mutilation Post by :JBSikes Category :Poems Author :D. H. Lawrence Date :December 2010 Read :657

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A THICK mist-sheet lies over the broken wheat.
I walk up to my neck in mist, holding my mouth up.
Across there, a discoloured moon burns itself out.

I hold the night in horror;
I dare not turn round.

To-night I have left her alone.
They would have it I have left her for ever.

Oh my God, how it aches
Where she is cut off from me!

Perhaps she will go back to England.
Perhaps she will go back,
Perhaps we are parted for ever.

If I go on walking through the whole breadth of Germany
I come to the North Sea, or the Baltic.

Over there is Russia--Austria, Switzerland, France, in a circle!
I here in the undermist on the Bavarian road.

It aches in me.
What is England or France, far off,
But a name she might take?
I don't mind this continent stretching, the sea far away;
It aches in me for her
Like the agony of limbs cut off and aching;
Not even longing,
It is only agony.

A cripple!
Oh God, to be mutilated!
To be a cripple!

And if I never see her again?

I think, if they told me so
I could convulse the heavens with my horror.
I think I could alter the frame of things in my agony.
I think I could break the System with my heart.
I think, in my convulsion, the skies would break.

She too suffers.
But who could compel her, if she chose me against them all?
She has not chosen me finally, she suspends her choice.
Night folk, Tuatha De Danaan, dark Gods, govern her sleep,
Magnificent ghosts of the darkness, carry off her decision in sleep,
Leave her no choice, make her lapse me-ward, make her,
Oh Gods of the living Darkness, powers of Night.


(The end)
D. H. Lawrence's poem: Mutilation

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Humiliation Humiliation

I HAVE been so innerly proud, and so long alone,Do not leave me, or I shall break.Do not leave me.What should I do if you were gone againSo soon?What should I look for?Where should I go?What should I be, I myself,"I"?What would it mean, thisI?Do not leave me.What should I think of death?If I died, it would not be you:It would be simply the sameLack of you.The same want, life or death,Unfulfilment,The same insanity of spaceYou not there for me.Think, I daren't dieFor fear of the lack in death.And I daren't live.Unless there were a morphine or a drug.I would bear

Frohnleichnam Frohnleichnam

You have come your way, I have come my way;You have stepped across your people, carelessly, hurting them all;I have stepped across my people, and hurt them in spite of my care.But steadily, surely, and notwithstandingWe have come our ways and met at lastHere in this upper room.Here the balconyOverhangs the street where the bullock-wagons slowlyGo by with their loads of green and silver birch-treesFor the feast of Corpus Christi.Here from the balconyWe look over the growing wheat the jade-green riverGoes between the pine-woods,Over and beyond to where the many mountainsStand in their blueness, flashing with snow and the morning.I