and live woman.
1936
Love on the Farm1
What large, dark hands are those at the window
Grasping in the golden light
Which weaves its way through the evening wind
At my heart's delight?
5 Ah, only the leaves! But in the west
I see a redness suddenly come
Into the evening's anxious breast?
'Tis the wound of love goes home!
8. Orphanage. in 19] 3 and 'Love on the Farm' when it appeared I. Called 'Cruelty and Love' w hen first published in Collected Poems (1928).
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227 4 / D. H. LAWRENCE
The woodbine0 creeps abroad honeysuckle
Calling low to her lover: The sunlit flirt who all the day Has poised above her lips in play And stolen kisses, shallow and gay Of pollen, now has gone away?
15
She woos the moth with her sweet, low word; And when above her his moth-wings hover Then her bright breast she will uncover And yield her honey-drop to her lover.
Into the yellow, evening glow
Saunters a man from the farm below; Leans, and looks in at the low-built shed Where the swallow has hung her marriage bed.
The bird lies warm against the wall. She glances quick her startled eyes
25 Towards him, then she turns away Her small head, making warm display Of red upon the throat. Her terrors sway Her out of the nest's warm, busy ball, Whose plaintive cry is heard as she flies
In one blue stoop from out the sties0 pens for animals
Into the twilight's empty hall. Oh, water-hen, beside the rushes Hide your quaintly scarlet blushes, Still your quick tail, lie still as dead,
35 Till the distance folds over his ominous tread!
The rabbit presses back her ears, Turns back her liquid, anguished eyes And crouches low; then with wild spring Spurts from the terror of his oncoming;
To be choked back, the wire ring Her frantic effort throttling:
Piteous brown ball of quivering fears! Ah, soon in his large, hard hands she dies, And swings all loose from the swing of his walk!
45 Yet calm and kindly are his eyes And ready to open in brown surprise Should I not answer to his talk Or should he my tears surmise.
I hear his hand on the latch, and rise from my chair
Watching the door open; he flashes bare His strong teeth in a smile, and flashes his eyes In a smile like triumph upon me; then careless-wise He flings the rabbit soft on the table board And comes towards me: ah! the uplifted sword
55 Of his hand against my bosom! and oh, the broad Blade of his glance that asks me to applaud His coming! With his hand he turns my face to him And caresses me with his fingers that still smell grim
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TORTOISE SHOUT / 2275
Of the rabbit's fur! God, I am caught in a snare!
60 I know not what fine wire is round my throat; I only know I let him finger there My pulse of life, and let him nose like a stoat0 weasel Who sniffs with joy before he drinks the blood.
And down his mouth comes to my mouth! and down
65 His bright dark eyes come over me, like a hood Upon my mind! his lips meet mine, and a flood Of sweet fire sweeps across me, so I drown Against him, die, and find death good.
1913, 1928
Piano1
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me; Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong To the
