David Herbert Lawrence Poems

When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind,
They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water;
And the sight of their white play among the grass
...

There are four men mowing down by the Isar;
I can hear the swish of the scythe-strokes, four
Sharp breaths taken: yea, and I
Am sorry for what's in store.
...

The profoundest of all sensualities
is the sense of truth
...

Search for nothing any more, nothing
except truth.
Be very still, and try and get at the truth.
...

A yellow leaf from the darkness
Hops like a frog before me.
Why should I start and stand still?
...

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?
...

Why does the thin grey strand
Floating up from the forgotten
Cigarette between my fingers,
Why does it trouble me?
...

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,
...

Don't you care for my love? she said bitterly.

I handed her the mirror, and said:
Please address these questions to the proper person!
...

My little love, my darling,
You were a doorway to me;
You let me out of the confines
Into this strange countrie,
...