All Poems
/ page 2484 of 3210 /
The Mystic Blue
© David Herbert Lawrence
Out of the darkness, fretted sometimes in its sleeping,
Jets of sparks in fountains of blue come leaping
To sight, revealing a secret, numberless secrets keeping.
The Palm-Tree
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm,
On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm?
Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm?
The Bride
© David Herbert Lawrence
My love looks like a girl to-night,
But she is old.
The plaits that lie along her pillow
Are not gold,
But threaded with filigree silver,
And uncanny cold.
The Mother's Question
© Edgar Albert Guest
When I was a boy, and it chanced to rain,
Mother would always watch for me;
The Deepest Sensuality
© David Herbert Lawrence
The profoundest of all sensualities
is the sense of truth
and the next deepest sensual experience
is the sense of justice.
"Somebody brought in lilac"
© Lesbia Harford
Somebody brought in lilac,
Lilac after rain.
Isn't it strange, belovéd of mine
You'll not see it again?
Green
© David Herbert Lawrence
The dawn was apple-green,
The sky was green wine held up in the sun,
The moon was a golden petal between.
The Pine Woods Of Grijo
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Our voices break on a stillness bright and strange
Of early morning. Pines upon either hand
People the sunshine: deep as eye can range,
Their lofty throngs in a darkling order stand.
Tortoise Shout
© David Herbert Lawrence
War-cry, triumph, acute-delight, death-scream reptilian,
Why was the veil torn?
The silken shriek of the soul's torn membrane?
The male soul's membrane
Torn with a shriek half music, half horror.
Bat
© David Herbert Lawrence
At evening, sitting on this terrace,
When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara
Departs, and the world is taken by surprise ...
Break of Day in the Trenches
© Isaac Rosenberg
The darkness crumbles away
It is the same old druid Time as ever,
Cruelty and Love
© David Herbert Lawrence
What large, dark hands are those at the window
Lifted, grasping in the yellow light
Which makes its way through the curtain web
At my heart to-night?
The Enkindled Spring
© David Herbert Lawrence
This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
Thought
© David Herbert Lawrence
Thought, I love thought.
But not the juggling and twisting of already existent ideas
I despise that self-important game.
Thought is the welling up of unknown life into consciousness,
Belief
© David Herbert Lawrence
Forever nameless
Forever unknwon
Forever unconceived
Forever unrepresented
yet forever felt in the soul.
A Sane Revolution
© David Herbert Lawrence
If you make a revolution, make it for fun,
don't make it in ghastly seriousness,
don't do it in deadly earnest,
do it for fun.
The Rewards Of Industry
© Edgar Albert Guest
A FRIEND of mine said yesterday: "There goes a man across the way
Who paid ten thousand dollars for a home a week ago;
Trees In The Garden
© David Herbert Lawrence
And the ghostly, creamy coloured little tree of leaves
white, ivory white among the rambling greens
how evanescent, variegated elder, she hesitates on the green grass
as if, in another moment, she would disappear
with all her grace of foam!
