David Herbert Lawrence

[D.H. Lawrence] (11 September 1885 – 2 March 1930 / Nottinghamshire / England)

David Herbert Lawrence Poems

81. Snake 7/8/2009
82. Snap-Dragon 1/1/2004
83. Sorrow 1/1/2004
84. Study 1/1/2004
85. Submergence 1/1/2004
86. Tease 1/1/2004
87. The Bride 1/1/2004
88. The Deepest Sensuality 1/1/2004
89. The Elephant Is Slow To Mate 7/8/2009
90. The End 1/1/2004
91. The English are So Nice! 7/28/2015
92. The Enkindled Spring 1/1/2004
93. The Gods! The Gods! 7/8/2009
94. The Hands Of The Betrothed 1/1/2004
95. The Inheritance 1/1/2004
96. The Mosquito 7/21/2015
97. The Mystic Blue 1/1/2004
98. The Prophet 1/1/2004
99. The Punisher 1/1/2004
100. The Revolutionary 1/1/2004
101. The Ship Of Death 1/1/2004
102. The Song Of A Man Who Has Come Through 1/1/2004
103. The Virgin Mother 1/1/2004
104. The White Horse 1/8/2016
105. The Wild Common 1/1/2004
106. Thought 1/1/2004
107. To Women As Far As I'M Concerned 1/1/2004
108. Tortoise Family Connections 7/8/2009
109. Tortoise Gallantry 7/8/2009
110. Tortoise Shell 7/8/2009
111. Tortoise Shout 7/8/2009
112. Trees In The Garden 7/8/2009
113. Troth With The Dead 1/1/2004
114. Trust 1/22/2015
115. Turkey-Cock 5/21/2015
116. Virgin Youth 1/1/2004
117. We Are Transmitters 1/1/2004
118. Week-Night Service 1/1/2004
119. Whales Weep Not! 7/8/2009
120. Willy Wet-Leg 1/1/2004
Best Poem of David Herbert Lawrence

Beautiful Old Age

It ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.

The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows a life
lived undaunted and unsoured with accepted lies
they would ripen like apples, and be scented like pippins
in their old age.

Soothing, old people should be, like apples
when one is tired of love.
Fragrant like yellowing leaves, and dim with the soft
stillness and satisfaction of autumn.

And a girl should say:
It must be wonderful to live and grow old.
Look at my mother, how rich ...

Read the full of Beautiful Old Age

Irony

Always, sweetheart,
Carry into your room the blossoming boughs of cherry,
Almond and apple and pear diffuse with light, that very
Soon strews itself on the floor; and keep the radiance of spring
Fresh quivering; keep the sunny-swift March-days waiting
In a little throng at your door, and admit the one who is plaiting
Her hair for womanhood, and play awhile with her, then bid her depart.

A come and go of March-day loves

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