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Roses On The Breakfast Table Post by :Joanne_L._Mason Category :Poems Author :D. H. Lawrence Date :December 2010 Read :934

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Roses On The Breakfast Table

JUST a few of the roses we gathered from the Isar
Are fallen, and their mauve-red petals on the cloth
Float like boats on a river, while other
Roses are ready to fall, reluctant and loth.

She laughs at me across the table, saying
I am beautiful. I look at the rumpled young roses
And suddenly realise, in them as in me,
How lovely the present is that this day discloses.

(The end)
D. H. Lawrence's poem: Roses On The Breakfast Table

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I Am Like A Rose I Am Like A Rose

I Am Like A Rose
I AM myself at last; now I achieveMy very self. I, with the wonder mellow,Full of fine warmth, I issue forth in clearAnd single me, perfected from my fellow.Here I am all myself. No rose-bush heavingIts limpid sap to culmination, has broughtItself more sheer and naked out of the greenIn stark-clear roses, than I to myself am brought.(The end)D. H. Lawrence's poem: I Am Like A Rose

Gloire De Dijon Gloire De Dijon

Gloire De Dijon
WHEN she rises in the morningI linger to watch her;She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the windowAnd the sunbeams catch herGlistening white on the shoulders,While down her sides the mellowGolden shadow glows asShe stoops to the sponge, and her swung breastsSway like full-blown yellowGloire de Dijon roses.She drips herself with water, and her shouldersGlisten as silver, they crumple upLike wet and falling roses, and I listenFor the sluicing of their rain-dishevelled petals.In the window full of sunlightConcentrates her golden shadowFold on fold, until it glows asMellow as the glory roses. ICKING(The end)D. H. Lawrence's poem: Gloire De Dijon