Look! We Have Come Through!

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Look! We Have Come Through! Page 4

by D. H. Lawrence

Until they glow.


  THERE are only two things now,

  The great black night scooped out

  And this fire-glow.

  This fire-glow, the core,

  And we the two ripe pips

  That are held in store.

  Listen, the darkness rings

  As it circulates round our fire.

  Take off your things.

  Your shoulders, your bruised throat

  Your breasts, your nakedness!

  This fiery coat!

  As the darkness flickers and dips,

  As the firelight falls and leaps

  From your feet to your lips!


  Now you are mine, to-night at last I say it;

  You're a dove I have bought for sacrifice,

  And to-night I slay it.

  Here in my arms my naked sacrifice!

  Death, do you hear, in my arms I am bringing

  My offering, bought at great price.

  She's a silvery dove worth more than all I've got.

  Now I offer her up to the ancient, inexorable God,

  Who knows me not.

  Look, she's a wonderful dove, without blemish or


  I sacrifice all in her, my last of the world,

  Pride, strength, all the lot.

  All, all on the altar! And death swooping down

  Like a falcon. 'Tis God has taken the victim;

  I have won my renown.


  You shadow and flame,

  You interchange,

  You death in the game!

  Now I gather you up,

  Now I put you back

  Like a poppy in its cup.

  And so, you are a maid

  Again, my darling, but new,


  My love, my blossom, a child

  Almost! The flower in the bud

  Again, undefiled.

  And yet, a woman, knowing

  All, good, evil, both

  In one blossom blowing.


  THIS fireglow is a red womb

  In the night, where you're folded up

  On your doom.

  And the ugly, brutal years

  Are dissolving out of you,

  And the stagnant tears.

  I the great vein that leads

  From the night to the source of you,

  Which the sweet blood feeds.

  New phase in the germ of you;

  New sunny streams of blood

  Washing you through.

  You are born again of me.

  I, Adam, from the veins of me

  The Eve that is to be.

  What has been long ago

  Grows dimmer, we both forget,

  We no longer know.

  You are lovely, your face is soft

  Like a flower in bud

  On a mountain croft.

  This is Noel for me.

  To-night is a woman born

  Of the man in me.


  WHY do you spurt and sprottle

  like that, bunny?

  Why should I want to throttle

  you, bunny?

  Yes, bunch yourself between

  my knees and lie still.

  Lie on me with a hot, plumb, live weight,

  heavy as a stone, passive,

  yet hot, waiting.

  What are you waiting for?

  What are you waiting for?

  What is the hot, plumb weight of your desire on


  You have a hot, unthinkable desire of me, bunny.

  What is that spark

  glittering at me on the unutterable darkness

  of your eye, bunny?

  The finest splinter of a spark

  that you throw off, straight on the tinder of my


  It sets up a strange fire,

  a soft, most unwarrantable burning

  a bale-fire mounting, mounting up in me.

  'Tis not of me, bunny.

  It was you engendered it,

  with that fine, demoniacal spark

  you jetted off your eye at me.

  _I_ did not want it,

  this furnace, this draught-maddened fire

  which mounts up my arms

  making them swell with turgid, ungovernable


  'Twas not _I_ that wished it,

  that my fingers should turn into these flames

  avid and terrible

  that they are at this moment.

  It must have been _your_ inbreathing, gaping desire

  that drew this red gush in me;

  I must be reciprocating _your_ vacuous, hideous


  It must be the want in you

  that has drawn this terrible draught of white fire

  up my veins as up a chimney.

  It must be you who desire

  this intermingling of the black and monstrous

  fingers of Moloch

  in the blood-jets of your throat.

  Come, you shall have your desire,

  since already I am implicated with you

  in your strange lust.


  THROUGH the strait gate of passion,

  Between the bickering fire

  Where flames of fierce love tremble

  On the body of fierce desire:

  To the intoxication,

  The mind, fused down like a bead,

  Flees in its agitation

  The flames' stiff speed:

  At last to calm incandescence,

  Burned clean by remorseless hate,

  Now, at the day's renascence

  We approach the gate.

  Now, from the darkened spaces

  Of fear, and of frightened faces,

  Death, in our awful embraces

  Approached and passed by;

  We near the flame-burnt porches

  Where the brands of the angels, like torches

  Whirl,--in these perilous marches

  Pausing to sigh;

  We look back on the withering roses,

  The stars, in their sun-dimmed closes,

  Where 'twas given us to repose us

  Sure on our sanctity;

  Beautiful, candid lovers,

  Burnt out of our earthy covers,

  We might have nestled like plovers

  In the fields of eternity.

  There, sure in sinless being,

  All-seen, and then all-seeing,

  In us life unto death agreeing,

  We might have lain.

  But we storm the angel-guarded

  Gates of the long-discarded,

  Garden, which God has hoarded

  Against our pain.

  The Lord of Hosts, and the Devil

  Are left on Eternity's level

  Field, and as victors we travel

  To Eden home.

  Back beyond good and evil

  Return we. Eve dishevel

  Your hair for the bliss-drenched revel

  On our primal loam.


  AH, through the open door

  Is there an almond tree

  Aflame with blossom!

  --Let us fight no more.

  Among the pink and blue

  Of the sky and the almond flowers

  A sparrow flutters.

  --We have come through,

  It is really spring!--See,

  When he thinks himself alone

  How he bullies the flowers.

  --Ah, you and me

  How happy we'll be!--See him

  He clouts the tufts of flowers

  In his impudence.

  --But, did you dream

  It would be so bitter? Never mind

  It is finished, the spring is

  And we're going to be summer-happy

  And summer-kind.

  We have died, we have slain and been slain,

  We are not our old selves any more.

  I feel new and eager

  To start again.

  It is gorgeous to live and forget.

  And to feel quite new.

  See the bird in the flowers?--he's making

  A rare to-do!

  He thinks the whole blue sky

  Is much less than the bit of blue egg

  He's got in his nest--we'll be happy

  You and I, I and you.

  With nothing to fight any more--

  In each other, at least.

  See, how gorgeous the world is

  Outside the door!




  COME, my little one, closer up against me,

  Creep right up, with your round head pushed in

  my breast.

  How I love all of you! Do you feel me wrap


  Up with myself and my warmth, like a flame

  round the wick?

  And how I am not at all, except a flame that

  mounts off you.

  Where I touch you, I flame into being;--but is it

  me, or you?

  That round head pushed in my chest, like a nut

  in its socket,

  And I the swift bracts that sheathe it: those

  breasts, those thighs and knees,

  Those shoulders so warm and smooth: I feel

  that I

  Am a sunlight upon them, that shines them into


  But how lovely to be you! Creep closer in, that

  I am more.

  I spread over you! How lovely, your round head,

  your arms,

  Your breasts, your knees and feet! I feel that we

  Are a bonfire of oneness, me flame flung leaping

  round you,

  You the core of the fire, crept into me.


  AND oh, my little one, you whom I enfold,

  How quaveringly I depend on you, to keep me


  Like a flame on a wick!

  I, the man who enfolds you and holds you close,

  How my soul cleaves to your bosom as I clasp you,

  The very quick of my being!

  Suppose you didn't want me! I should sink down

  Like a light that has no sustenance

  And sinks low.

  Cherish me, my tiny one, cherish me who enfold


  Nourish me, and endue me, I am only of you,

  I am your issue.

  How full and big like a robust, happy flame

  When I enfold you, and you creep into me,

  And my life is fierce at its quick

  Where it comes off you!


  MY little one, my big one,

  My bird, my brown sparrow in my breast.

  My squirrel clutching in to me;

  My pigeon, my little one, so warm

  So close, breathing so still.

  My little one, my big one,

  I, who am so fierce and strong, enfolding you,

  If you start away from my breast, and leave me,

  How suddenly I shall go down into nothing

  Like a flame that falls of a sudden.

  And you will be before me, tall and towering,

  And I shall be wavering uncertain

  Like a sunken flame that grasps for support.


  BUT now I am full and strong and certain

  With you there firm at the core of me

  Keeping me.

  How sure I feel, how warm and strong and happy

  For the future! How sure the future is within me;

  I am like a seed with a perfect flower enclosed.

  I wonder what it will be,

  What will come forth of us.

  What flower, my love?

  No matter, I am so happy,

  I feel like a firm, rich, healthy root,

  Rejoicing in what is to come.

  How I depend on you utterly

  My little one, my big one!

  How everything that will be, will not be of me,

  Nor of either of us,

  But of both of us.


  AND think, there will something come forth from


  We two, folded so small together,

  There will something come forth from us.

  Children, acts, utterance

  Perhaps only happiness.

  Perhaps only happiness will come forth from us.

  Old sorrow, and new happiness.

  Only that one newness.

  But that is all I want.

  And I am sure of that.

  We are sure of that.


  AND yet all the while you are you, you are not me.

  And I am I, I am never you.

  How awfully distinct and far off from each other's

  being we are!

  Yet I am glad.

  I am so glad there is always you beyond my scope,

  Something that stands over,

  Something I shall never be,

  That I shall always wonder over, and wait for,

  Look for like the breath of life as long as I live,

  Still waiting for you, however old you are, and I


  I shall always wonder over you, and look for you.

  And you will always be with me.

  I shall never cease to be filled with newness,

  Having you near me.


  THE listless beauty of the hour

  When snow fell on the apple trees

  And the wood-ash gathered in the fire

  And we faced our first miseries.

  Then the sweeping sunshine of noon

  When the mountains like chariot cars

  Were ranked to blue battle--and you and I

  Counted our scars.

  And then in a strange, grey hour

  We lay mouth to mouth, with your face

  Under mine like a star on the lake,

  And I covered the earth, and all space.

  The silent, drifting hours

  Of morn after morn

  And night drifting up to the night

  Yet no pathway worn.

  Your life, and mine, my love

  Passing on and on, the hate

  Fusing closer and closer with love

  Till at length they mate.




  NOT I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!

  A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

  If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry


  If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a

  winged gift!

  If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am


  By the fine, fine wind that takes its course through

  the chaos of the world

  Like a fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade


  If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a


  Driven by invisible blows,

  The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder,

  we shall find the Hesperides.

  Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul,

  I would be a good fountain, a good well-head,

  Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression.

  What is the knocking?

  What is the knocking at the door in the night?

>   It is somebody wants to do us harm.

  No, no, it is the three strange angels.

  Admit them, admit them.


  I DON'T care whether I am beautiful to you

  You other women.

  Nothing of me that you see is my own;

  A man balances, bone unto bone

  Balances, everything thrown

  In the scale, you other women.

  You may look and say to yourselves, I do

  Not show like the rest.

  My face may not please you, nor my stature; yet

  if you knew

  How happy I am, how my heart in the wind rings


  Like a bell that is chiming, each stroke as a stroke

  falls due,

  You other women:

  You would draw your mirror towards you, you

  would wish

  To be different.

  There's the beauty you cannot see, myself and


  Balanced in glorious equilibrium,

  The swinging beauty of equilibrium,

  You other women.

  There's this other beauty, the way of the stars

  You straggling women.

  If you knew how I swerve in peace, in the equi-


  With the man, if you knew how my flesh enjoys

  The swinging bliss no shattering ever destroys

  You other women:

  You would envy me, you would think me wonder-


  Beyond compare;

  You would weep to be lapsing on such harmony

  As carries me, you would wonder aloud that he

  Who is so strange should correspond with me


  You see he is different, he is dangerous,

  Without pity or love.

  And yet how his separate being liberates me

  And gives me peace! You cannot see

  How the stars are moving in surety

  Exquisite, high above.

  We move without knowing, we sleep, and we

  travel on,

  You other women.

  And this is beauty to me, to be lifted and gone

  In a motion human inhuman, two and one

  Encompassed, and many reduced to none,

  You other women.



  THE great gold apples of night

  Hang from the street's long bough

  Dripping their light

  On the faces that drift below,

  On the faces that drift and blow

  Down the night-time, out of sight

  In the wind's sad sough.

  The ripeness of these apples of night

  Distilling over me

  Makes sickening the white

  Ghost-flux of faces that hie

  Them endlessly, endlessly by

  Without meaning or reason why

  They ever should be.


  GOLD, with an innermost speck

  Of silver, singing afloat

  Beneath the night,

  Like balls of thistle-down

  Wandering up and down

  Over the whispering town

  Seeking where to alight!

  Slowly, above the street

  Above the ebb of feet

  Drifting in flight;

  Still, in the purple distance

  The gold of their strange persistence

  As they cross and part and meet

  And pass out of sight!

  The seed-ball of the sun

  Is broken at last, and done

  Is the orb of day.

  Now to the separate ends

  Seed after day-seed wends

  A separate way.

  No sun will ever rise

  Again on the wonted skies

  In the midst of the spheres.

  The globe of the day, over-ripe,

  Is shattered at last beneath the stripe

  Of the wind, and its oneness veers

  Out myriad-wise.

  Seed after seed after seed

  Drifts over the town, in its need

  To sink and have done;

  To settle at last in the dark,

  To bury its weary spark

  Where the end is begun.

  Darkness, and depth of sleep,

  Nothing to know or to weep

  Where the seed sinks in

  To the earth of the under-night

  Where all is silent, quite

  Still, and the darknesses steep

  Out all the sin.


  SHE said as well to me: "Why are you ashamed?

  That little bit of your chest that shows between

  the gap of your shirt, why cover it up?

  Why shouldn't your legs and your good strong


  be rough and hairy?--I'm glad they are like


  You are shy, you silly, you silly shy thing.

  Men are the shyest creatures, they never will come

  out of their covers. Like any snake

  slipping into its bed of dead leaves, you hurry into

  your clothes.

  And I love you so! Straight and clean and all of a

  piece is the body of a man,

  such an instrument, a spade, like a spear, or an


  such a joy to me--"

  So she laid her hands and pressed them down my


  so that I began to wonder over myself, and what I


  She said to me: "What an instrument, your


  single and perfectly distinct from everything else!

  What a tool in the hands of the Lord!


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