David Herbert Lawrence

[D.H. Lawrence] (11 September 1885 – 2 March 1930 / Nottinghamshire / England)

David Herbert Lawrence Poems

1. Sickness -new- 4/25/2015
2. Trust 1/22/2015
3. Afternoon In School The Last Lesson 11/26/2014
4. The Gods! The Gods! 7/8/2009
5. Tortoise Gallantry 7/8/2009
6. Malade 1/1/2004
7. Tortoise Family Connections 7/8/2009
8. Liaison 1/1/2004
9. The Hands Of The Betrothed 1/1/2004
10. Nothing To Save 7/8/2009
11. Lotus Hurt By The Cold 1/1/2004
12. In Trouble And Shame 7/8/2009
13. Lui Et Elle 7/8/2009
14. How Beastly The Bourgeois Is 7/8/2009
15. Reproach 1/1/2004
16. Tortoise Shell 7/8/2009
17. Study 1/1/2004
18. Giorno Dei Morti 1/1/2004
19. Listening 1/1/2004
20. Submergence 1/1/2004
21. Scent Of Irises 1/1/2004
22. Dreams Nascent 1/1/2004
23. Trees In The Garden 7/8/2009
24. Tortoise Shout 7/8/2009
25. Epilogue 1/1/2004
26. Mating 1/1/2004
27. The Inheritance 1/1/2004
28. Grey Evening 1/1/2004
29. New Year's Eve 1/1/2004
30. Meeting Among The Mountains 1/1/2004
31. Perfidy 1/1/2004
32. The Enkindled Spring 1/1/2004
33. Excursion 1/1/2004
34. Restlessness 1/1/2004
35. Brother And Sister 7/8/2009
36. In A Boat 1/1/2004
37. Dolor Of Autumn 1/1/2004
38. Tease 1/1/2004
39. The Revolutionary 1/1/2004
40. Discipline 1/1/2004
Best Poem of David Herbert Lawrence

A Winter's Tale

Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow,
And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge;
Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go
On towards the pines at the hills’ white verge.

I cannot see her, since the mist’s white scarf
Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky;
But she’s waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half
Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh.

Why does she come so promptly, when she must know
That she’s only the nearer to the inevitable farewell;
The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow— ...

Read the full of A Winter's Tale

Sickness

WAVING slowly before me, pushed into the dark,
Unseen my hands explore the silence, drawing the bark
Of my body slowly behind.

Nothing to meet my fingers but the fleece of night
Invisible blinding my face and my eyes! What if in their flight
My hands should touch the door!

What if I suddenly stumble, and push the door

[Hata Bildir]