From the womb of your precious desire.
You woman most holy, you mother, you being beyond
Question or diminution,
Add yourself up, and your seed, to the nought
Of your last solution.
BOTH SIDES OF THE MEDAL
AND because you love me
think you you do not hate me?
Ha, since you love me
to ecstasy
it follows you hate me to ecstasy.
Because when you hear me
go down the road outside the house
you must come to the window to watch me go,
do you think it is pure worship?
Because, when I sit in the room,
here, in my own house,
and you want to enlarge yourself with this friend of mine,
such a friend as he is,
yet you cannot get beyond your awareness of me
you are held back by my being in the same world
with you,
do you think it is bliss alone?
sheer harmony?
No doubt if I were dead, you must
reach into death after me,
but would not your hate reach even more madly
than your love?
your impassioned, unfinished hate?
Since you have a passion for me,
as I for you,
does not that passion stand in your way like a
Balaam’s ass?
and am I not Balaam’s ass
golden-mouthed occasionally?
But mostly, do you not detest my bray?
Since you are confined in the orbit of me
do you not loathe the confinement?
Is not even the beauty and peace of an orbit
an intolerable prison to you,
as it is to everybody?
But we will learn to submit
each of us to the balanced, eternal orbit
wherein we circle on our fate
in strange conjunction.
What is chaos, my love?
It is not freedom.
A disarray of falling stars coming to nought.
LOGGERHEADS
PLEASE yourself how you have it.
Take my words, and fling
Them down on the counter roundly;
See if they ring.
Sift my looks and expressions,
And see what proportion there is
Of sand in my doubtful sugar
Of verities.
Have a real stock-taking
Of my manly breast;
Find out if I’m sound or bankrupt,
Or a poor thing at best.
For I am quite indifferent
To your dubious state,
As to whether you’ve found a fortune
In me, or a flea-bitten fate.
Make a good investigation
Of all that is there,
And then, if it’s worth it, be grateful- —
If not then despair.
If despair is our portion
Then let us despair.
Let us make for the weeping willow.
I don’t care.
DECEMBER NIGHT
TAKE off your cloak and your hat
And your shoes, and draw up at my hearth
Where never woman sat.
I have made the fire up bright;
Let us leave the rest in the dark
And sit by firelight.
The wine is warm in the hearth;
The flickers come and go.
I will warm your feet with kisses
Until they glow.
NEW YEAR’S EVE
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!
NEW YEAR’S NIGHT
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 spot!
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.
VALENTINE’S NIGHT
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,
Unafraid.
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.
BIRTH NIGHT
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 Noël for me.
To-night is a woman born
Of the man in me.
RABBIT SNARED IN THE NIGHT
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 me?
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 nerves!
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 strength.
‘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 passion.
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.
PARADISE RE-ENTERED
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.
SPRING MORNING
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 here.
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!
SAN GAUDENZIO
WEDLOCK
I
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 you
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 being.
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.
II
AND oh, my little one, you whom I enfold,
How quaveringly I depend on you, to keep me alive,
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 you.
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!
III
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.
IV
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.
V
AND think, there will something come forth from us.
We two, folded so small together,
Ther
e 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.
VI
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 am,
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.
HISTORY
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
Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence Page 830