LAST WORDS TO MIRIAM
by: D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930)
- OURS is
the shame and sorrow
- But the disgrace is mine;
- Your love was dark and thorough,
- Mine was the love of the sun for a flower
- He creates with his shine.
-
- I was diligent to explore you,
- Blossom you stalk by stalk,
- Till my fire of creation bore you
- Shrivelling down in the final dour
- Anguish--then I suffered a balk.
-
- I knew your pain, and it broke
- My fine, craftsman's nerve;
- Your body quailed at my stroke,
- And my courage failed to give you the last
- Fine torture you did deserve.
-
- You are shapely, you are adorned,
- But opaque and dull in the flesh,
- Who, had I but pierced with the thorned
- Fire-threshing anguish, were fused and cast
- In a lovely illumined mesh.
-
- Like a painted window: the best
- Suffering burnt through your flesh,
- Undressed it and left it blest
- With a quivering sweet wisdom of grace: but now
- Who shall take you afresh?
-
- Now who will burn you free,
- From your body's terrors and dross,
- Since the fire has failed in me?
- What man will stoop in your flesh to plough
- The shrieking cross?
-
- A mute, nearly beautiful thing
- Is your face, that fills me with shame
- As I see it hardening,
- Warping the perfect image of God,
- And darkening my eternal fame.
"Last Words to Miriam"
is reprinted from Amores: Poems. D.H. Lawrence. New York:
B.W. Huebsch, 1916. |
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