Baby Poems: A Baby Running Barefoot - Poem by David Herbert Lawrence

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A Baby Running Barefoot - Poem by David Herbert Lawrence

When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind,
They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water;
And the sight of their white play among the grass
Is like a little robin’s song, winsome,
Or as two white butterflies settle in the cup of one flower
For a moment, then away with a flutter of wings.

I long for the baby to wander hither to me
Like a wind-shadow wandering over the water,
So that she can stand on my knee
With her little bare feet in my hands,
Cool like syringa buds,
Firm and silken like pink young peony flowers.


Comments about A Baby Running Barefoot by David Herbert Lawrence

  • Rookie From BenjaminC, Uy (9/20/2018 8:45:00 PM)

    DH Lawrence is truly one of the great writer i admire and read with respect,
    I never imagine but then it is expected that he is also a great poet
    (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
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Baby Poems

  1. A Baby In The House

    I knew that a baby was hid in that house, Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry; But the husband was tip-toeing 'round like a mouse, And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby; And there was a look on the face of the mother, That I knew could mean only one thing, and no other. The mother, I said to myself, for I knew That the woman before me was certainly that; And there lay in a corner a tiny cloth shoe, And I saw on a stand such a wee little hat; And the beard of the husband said, plain as could be, 'Two fat chubby hands have been tugging at me.' And he took from his pocket a gay picture-book, And a dog that could bark, if you pulled on a string; And the wife laid them up with such a pleased look; And I said to myself, 'There is no other thing But a babe that could bring about all this, and so That one thing is in hiding somewhere, I know.' I stayed but a moment, and saw nothing more, And heard not a sound, yet I know I was right; What else could the shoe mean that lay on the floor, The book and the toy, and the faces so bright; And what made the husband as still as a mouse? I am sure, very sure, there's a babe in that house.

  2. Little Brown Baby

    Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes, Come to yo' pappy an' set on his knee. What you been doin', suh -- makin' san' pies? Look at dat bib -- you's es du'ty ez me. Look at dat mouf -- dat's merlasses, I bet; Come hyeah, Maria, an' wipe off his han's. Bees gwine to ketch you an' eat you up yit, Bein' so sticky an sweet -- goodness lan's! Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes, Who's pappy's darlin' an' who's pappy's chile? Who is it all de day nevah once tries Fu' to be cross, er once loses dat smile? Whah did you git dem teef? My, you's a scamp! Whah did dat dimple come f'om in yo' chin? Pappy do' know you -- I b'lieves you's a tramp; Mammy, dis hyeah's some ol' straggler got in! Let's th'ow him outen de do' in de san', We do' want stragglers a-layin' 'roun' hyeah; Let's gin him 'way to de big buggah-man; I know he's hidin' erroun' hyeah right neah. Buggah-man, buggah-man, come in de do', Hyeah's a bad boy you kin have fu' to eat. Mammy an' pappy do' want him no mo', Swaller him down f'om his haid to his feet! Dah, now, I t'ought dat you'd hug me up close. Go back, ol' buggah, you sha'n't have dis boy. He ain't no tramp, ner no straggler, of co'se; He's pappy's pa'dner an' play-mate an' joy. Come to you' pallet now -- go to yo' res'; Wisht you could allus know ease an' cleah skies; Wisht you could stay jes' a chile on my breas'-- Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes!

  3. Baby Mine

    Baby sweet, baby mine, King of Kings, so sublime, Born for us on Christmas Day, Master of all that you'll survey. Baby dear, baby fine, Lord of Lords, so divine, Your birth we celebrate, and share Our lives with you, as we say your prayer. Baby loved, baby shine, God, Creator, we are thine, Be our Father, dwell within Our souls, and let our praise begin. © Ernestine Northover

  4. ! Baby Love, Maybe Love

    so there you are in your pram or kiddikarria nicely tucked up, being talked to in that singysongylingo that grown-ups grow down to when that tingylingy, like that stoopid thingy dangling on your cot that doesn't do anything else goes hissdidahdidah and she switches her attention instantly from who's mommy's little treasure then, sticks this silver thing to block her ear and starts talking to thin air it must be either the fairies who don't seem to be very helpful - 'oh darling don't say you forgot I asked you specially...' or she's going doolally and the adult world's not what it's cracked up to be I'll give her two minutes no more or else

  5. Baby Picture

    It's in the heart of the grape where that smile lies. It's in the good-bye-bow in the hair where that smile lies. It's in the clerical collar of the dress where that smile lies. What smile? The smile of my seventh year, caught here in the painted photograph. It's peeling now, age has got it, a kind of cancer of the background and also in the assorted features. It's like a rotten flag or a vegetable from the refrigerator, pocked with mold. I am aging without sound, into darkness, darkness. Anne, who are you? I open the vein and my blood rings like roller skates. I open the mouth and my teeth are an angry army. I open the eyes and they go sick like dogs with what they have seen. I open the hair and it falls apart like dust balls. I open the dress and I see a child bent on a toilet seat. I crouch there, sitting dumbly pushing the enemas out like ice cream, letting the whole brown world turn into sweets. Anne, who are you? Merely a kid keeping alive.

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