D.H. Lawrence



A faint, sickening scent of irises

A man can't fully live unless he dies and ceases to care

A snake came to my water-trough

A thick mist-sheet lies over the broken wheat

A yellow leaf, from the darkness

Ah in the thunder air

Ah the people, the people!

Ah, my darling, when over the purple horizon shall loom

All men are worshippers

All that we know is nothing, we are merely crammed waste-paper baskets

All this talk of equality between the sexes is merely an expression of sex-hate

Almighty Mammon, make me rich!

Along the avenue of cypresses

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell [Lucifer]

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell [Lucifer]

Are you willing to be sponged out, erased, cancelled

As a drenched, drowned bee

As we live, we are transmitters of life

At evening, sitting on this terrace

At the open door of the room I stand and look at the night


Behold your Cross, Christians!

Between her breasts is my home, between her breasts

By the river


Curiously enough, actual revolutions are made by robots


Desire may be dead


Even iron can put forth

Even the old emotions are finished



For God's sake, let us be men


Give me the moon at my feet

Give us gods, Oh give them us!

Good husbands make unhappy wives


Her tawny eyes are onyx of thoughtlessness

How beastly the bourgeois is

How different, in the midst of snow, the great school rises red!

How gorgeous that shock of red lilies, and larkspur cleaving

How have I wandered here to this vaulted room


I am here myself; as though this heave of effort

I have been defeated and dragged down by pain

I have fetched the tears up out of the little wells

I like relativity and quantum theories

I listen to the stillness of you

I look at the swaling sunset

I never saw a wild thing

I thought he was dumb

I will give you all my keys

I wish it were spring in the world

I wonder if with you, as it is with me

I, the man with the red scarf

If I could have put you in my heart

If you are a man, and believe in the destiny of mankind

If you live along with all the other people

If you make a revolution, make it for fun

If you want to know yourself

Imagine that any mind ever thought a red geranium!

In another country, black poplars shake themselves over a pond

In front of the sombre mountains, a faint, lost ribbon of rainbow

In the choir the boys are singing the hymn

Into the shadow-white chamber silts the white

It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God

It is curious, too, that though the modern man in the street

It is stormy, and raindrops cling like silver bees to the panes

It ought to be lovely to be old


Kill money, put money out of existence


Last night a thief came to me

Let the dead go bury their dead

Look at them standing there in authority

Love has crept out of her sealèd heart


Making his advances

Man invented the machine

Man knows nothing

Many roses in the wind

Modern life is a tale told by an idiot

Mournfully to and fro, to and fro the trees are waving

My little critics must all have been brought up by their Aunties

My little love, my darling

My love looks like a girl to-night


No one, not even God, can put back a leaf on to a tree

Not every man has gentians in his house

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

Now above all is the time for the minorities of men

Now and again

Now I am all

Now it is autumn and the falling fruit


O destiny, destiny

O stiffly shapen houses that change not

O the green glimmer of apples in the orchard

O, if a flame is in you, be it so!

Oh be a demon

Oh, when the world is hopeless

On that day

One cannot now help thinking

Our day is over, night comes up

Our era is dying

Outside the house an ash-tree hung its terrible whips


Reject me not if I should say to you

Round the house were lilacs and strawberries


Sad as he sits on the white sea-stone

Search for nothing any more, nothing

See the stars, love

She bade me follow to her garden where

She is large and matronly

She sits on the recreation ground

Since I lost you, I am silence-haunted

Since this is the last night I keep you home

Since you did depart

Sister, tha knows while we was on th' planks

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me

Somewhere the long mellow note of the blackbird

Stand up, but not for Jesus!


The acrid scents of autumn

The blue jay with a crest on his head

The bourgeois produces the bolshevist, inevitably

The clouds are pushing in grey reluctance slowly northward to you

The Cross, the Cross

The cuckoo and the coo-dove's ceaseless calling

The dark, satanic mills of Blake

The darkness steals the forms of all the queens

The elephant, the huge old beast

The five old bells

The frost has settled down upon the trees

The glimmer of the limes, sun-heavy, sleeping

The gods are all things, and so are we

The great gold apples of night

The houses fade in a melt of mist

The little pansies by the road have turned

The little river twittering in the twilight

The moon is broken in twain, and half a moon

The new red houses spring like plants

The night rain, dripping unseen

The old idea of sacrifice was this

The old ones want to be young, and they aren't young

The only reason for living is being fully alive

The optimist builds himself safe inside a cell

The pine-trees bend to listen to the autumn wind as it mutters

The proper way to eat a fig, in society

The quick sparks on the gorse-bushes are leaping

The shorn moon trembling indistinct on her path

The sick grapes on the chair by the bed lie prone; at the window

The sun sets out the autumn crocuses

The unhappy souls are those that can't die and become silent

The wages of work is cash

The young to-day are born prisoners

The youth walks up to the white horse, to put its halter on

There are four men mowing down by the Isar

There are no gods, and you can please yourself

There are vast realms of consciousness still undreamed of

There is no sinning against God, what does God care about sin!

There is nothing to look at any more

There is nothing to save, now all is lost

They say I wrote a naughty book

They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains

They talk of the triumph of the machine

Thirteen thousand people came to see

This is the last of all, then, this is the last!

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green

Those that go searching for love

Thought, I love thought

Today, society has sanctified

Too far away, O love, I know

Tuscan cypresses


Was your's a daddy

Waving slowly before me, pushed into the dark

We don't exist unless we are deeply and sensually in touch

We have shut the doors behind us, and the velvet flowers of night

What have they done to you, men of the masses

What have they done to you, men of the masses, creeping back and forth to work?

What large, dark hands are those at the window

What makes people unsatisfied

When along the pavement

When did you start your tricks

When I read Shakespeare I am struck with wonder

When I woke, the lake-lights were quivering on the wall

When into the night the yellow light is roused like dust above the towns

When Satan fell, he only fell

When she rises in the morning

When the white feet of the baby beat across the grass

When the wind blows her veil

When will the bell ring, and end this weariness?

When you went, how was it you carried with you

Where the minnows trace

Who do you think stands watching

Why does the thin grey strand

Why seek to alter people, why not leave them alone?


Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow

You know what it is to be born alone

You promised to send me some violets. Did you forget?

You, if you were sensible

Yours is the sullen sorrow