David Herbert Lawrence

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

David Herbert Lawrence Poems

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

A Winter's Tale

Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow,
And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge;
Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go
On towards the pines at the hills’ white verge.

I cannot see her, since the mist’s white scarf
Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky;
But she’s waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half
Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh.

Why does she come so promptly, when she must know
That she’s only the nearer to the inevitable farewell;
The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow— ...

Read the full of A Winter's Tale

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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