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D.H. Lawrence
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D.H. Lawrence
(1885–1930)
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All poems by D.H. Lawrence on Kalliope, ordered alphabetically by the first line of the text. The list can be used to find a poem when the title is unknown.
A
A faint, sickening scent of irises
Ah in the thunder air
Ah, my darling, when over the purple horizon shall loom
Ah the people, the people!
All men are worshippers
All that we know is nothing, we are merely crammed waste-paper baskets
All this talk of equality between the sexes is merely an expression of sex-hate
Almighty Mammon, make me rich!
Along the avenue of cypresses
A man can’t fully live unless he dies and ceases to care
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell
Are you willing to be sponged out, erased, cancelled
As a drenched, drowned bee
A snake came to my water-trough
As we live, we are transmitters of life
At evening, sitting on this terrace
A thick mist-sheet lies over the broken wheat
At the open door of the room I stand and look at the night
A yellow leaf, from the darkness
B
Behold your Cross, Christians!
Between her breasts is my home, between her breasts
By the river
C
Curiously enough, actual revolutions are made by robots
D
Desire may be dead
E
Even iron can put forth
Even the old emotions are finished
F
Far-off
For God’s sake, let us be men
G
Give me the moon at my feet
Give us gods, Oh give them us!
Good husbands make unhappy wives
H
Her tawny eyes are onyx of thoughtlessness
How beastly the bourgeois is
How different, in the midst of snow, the great school rises red!
How gorgeous that shock of red lilies, and larkspur cleaving
How have I wandered here to this vaulted room
I
I am here myself; as though this heave of effort
If I could have put you in my heart
If you are a man, and believe in the destiny of mankind
If you live along with all the other people
If you make a revolution, make it for fun
If you want to know yourself
I have been defeated and dragged down by pain
I have fetched the tears up out of the little wells
I like relativity and quantum theories
I listen to the stillness of you
I look at the swaling sunset
Imagine that any mind ever thought a red geranium!
In another country, black poplars shake themselves over a pond
I never saw a wild thing
In front of the sombre mountains, a faint, lost ribbon of rainbow
In the choir the boys are singing the hymn
Into the shadow-white chamber silts the white
I, the man with the red scarf
I thought he was dumb
It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God
It is curious, too, that though the modern man in the street
It is stormy, and raindrops cling like silver bees to the panes
It ought to be lovely to be old
I will give you all my keys
I wish it were spring in the world
I wonder if with you, as it is with me
K
Kill money, put money out of existence
L
Last night a thief came to me
Let the dead go bury their dead
Look at them standing there in authority
Love has crept out of her sealèd heart
M
Making his advances
Man invented the machine
Man knows nothing
Many roses in the wind
Modern life is a tale told by an idiot
Mournfully to and fro, to and fro the trees are waving
My little critics must all have been brought up by their Aunties
My little love, my darling
My love looks like a girl to-night
N
No one, not even God, can put back a leaf on to a tree
Not every man has gentians in his house
Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!
Now above all is the time for the minorities of men
Now and again
Now I am all
Now it is autumn and the falling fruit
O
O destiny, destiny
Oh be a demon
Oh, when the world is hopeless
O, if a flame is in you, be it so!
One cannot now help thinking
On that day
O stiffly shapen houses that change not
O the green glimmer of apples in the orchard
Our day is over, night comes up
Our era is dying
Outside the house an ash-tree hung its terrible whips
R
Reject me not if I should say to you
Round the house were lilacs and strawberries
S
Sad as he sits on the white sea-stone
Search for nothing any more, nothing
See the stars, love
She bade me follow to her garden where
She is large and matronly
She sits on the recreation ground
Since I lost you, I am silence-haunted
Since this is the last night I keep you home
Since you did depart
Sister, tha knows while we was on th’ planks
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me
Somewhere the long mellow note of the blackbird
Stand up, but not for Jesus!
T
The acrid scents of autumn
The blue jay with a crest on his head
The bourgeois produces the bolshevist, inevitably
The clouds are pushing in grey reluctance slowly northward to you
The Cross, the Cross
The cuckoo and the coo-dove’s ceaseless calling
The darkness steals the forms of all the queens
The dark, satanic mills of Blake
The elephant, the huge old beast
The five old bells
The frost has settled down upon the trees
The glimmer of the limes, sun-heavy, sleeping
The gods are all things, and so are we
The great gold apples of night
The houses fade in a melt of mist
The little pansies by the road have turned
The little river twittering in the twilight
The moon is broken in twain, and half a moon
The new red houses spring like plants
The night rain, dripping unseen
The old idea of sacrifice was this
The old ones want to be young, and they aren’t young
The only reason for living is being fully alive
The optimist builds himself safe inside a cell
The pine-trees bend to listen to the autumn wind as it mutters
The proper way to eat a fig, in society
The quick sparks on the gorse-bushes are leaping
There are four men mowing down by the Isar
There are no gods, and you can please yourself
There are vast realms of consciousness still undreamed of
There is no sinning against God, what does God care about sin!
There is nothing to look at any more
There is nothing to save, now all is lost
The shorn moon trembling indistinct on her path
The sick grapes on the chair by the bed lie prone; at the window
The sun sets out the autumn crocuses
The unhappy souls are those that can’t die and become silent
The wages of work is cash
The young to-day are born prisoners
The youth walks up to the white horse, to put its halter on
They say I wrote a naughty book
They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
They talk of the triumph of the machine
Thirteen thousand people came to see
This is the last of all, then, this is the last!
This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green
Those that go searching for love
Thought, I love thought
Today, society has sanctified
Too far away, O love, I know
Tuscan cypresses
W
Was your’s a daddy
Waving slowly before me, pushed into the dark
We don’t exist unless we are deeply and sensually in touch
We have shut the doors behind us, and the velvet flowers of night
What have they done to you, men of the masses, creeping back and forth to work?
What have they done to you, men of the masses
What large, dark hands are those at the window
What makes people unsatisfied
When along the pavement
When did you start your tricks
When into the night the yellow light is roused like dust above the towns
When I read Shakespeare I am struck with wonder
When I woke, the lake-lights were quivering on the wall
When Satan fell, he only fell
When she rises in the morning
When the white feet of the baby beat across the grass
When the wind blows her veil
When will the bell ring, and end this weariness?
When you went, how was it you carried with you
Where the minnows trace
Who do you think stands watching
Why does the thin grey strand
Why seek to alter people, why not leave them alone?
Y
Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow
You, if you were sensible
You know what it is to be born alone
You promised to send me some violets. Did you forget?
Yours is the sullen sorrow
