Read Ebook: Love Poems and Others by Lawrence D H David Herbert

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Ebook has 270 lines and 14423 words, and 6 pages

But still to me all evening long you were cold, And I was numb with a bitter, deathly ache; Till old days drew me back into their fold, And dim sheep crowded me warm with companionship, And old ghosts clustered me close, and sleep was cajoled.

I slept till dawn at the window blew in like dust, Like the linty, raw-cold dust disturbed from the floor Of a disused room: a grey pale light like must That settled upon my face and hands till it seemed To flourish there, as pale mould blooms on a crust.

Then I rose in fear, needing you fearfully, For I thought you were warm as a sudden jet of blood. I thought I could plunge in your spurting hotness, and be Clean of the cold and the must.--With my hand on the latch I heard you in your sleep speak strangely to me.

And I dared not enter, feeling suddenly dismayed. So I went and washed my deadened flesh in the sea And came back tingling clean, but worn and frayed With cold, like the shell of the moon: and strange it seems That my love has dawned in rose again, like the love of a maid.

END OF ANOTHER HOME-HOLIDAY

When shall I see the half moon sink again Behind the black sycamore at the end of the garden? When will the scent of the dim, white phlox Creep up the wall to me, and in at my open window?

Why is it, the long slow stroke of the midnight bell, Falls again and again on my heart with a heavy reproach?

The moon-mist is over the village, out of the mist speaks the bell, And all the little roofs of the village bow low, pitiful, beseeching, resigned: Oh, little home, what is it I have not done well?

Ah home, suddenly I love you, As I hear the sharp clean trot of a pony down the road, Succeeding sharp little sounds dropping into the silence, Clear upon the long-drawn hoarseness of a train across the valley.

The light has gone out from under my mother's door. That she should love me so, She, so lonely, greying now, And I leaving her, Bent on my pursuits!

Love is the great Asker, The sun and the rain do not ask the secret

Of the time when the grain struggles down in the dark. The moon walks her lonely way without anguish, Because no loved one grieves over her departure.

Forever, ever by my shoulder pitiful Love will linger, Crouching as little houses crouch under the mist when I turn. Forever, out of the mist the church lifts up her reproachful finger, Pointing my eyes in wretched defiance where love hides her face to mourn.

Oh but the rain creeps down to wet the grain That struggles alone in the dark, And asking nothing, cheerfully steals back again! The moon sets forth o' nights To walk the lonely, dusky heights Serenely, with steps unswerving; Pursued by no sigh of bereavement, No tears of love unnerving Her constant tread: While ever at my side, Frail and sad, with grey bowed head, The beggar-woman, the yearning-eyed Inexorable love goes lagging.

The wild young heifer, glancing distraught, With a strange new knocking of life at her side Runs seeking a loneliness. The little grain draws down the earth to hide. Nay, even the slumberous egg, as it labours under the shell, Patiently to divide, and self-divide, Asks to be hidden, and wishes nothing to tell.

But when I draw the scanty cloak of silence over my eyes, Piteous Love comes peering under the hood. Touches the clasp with trembling fingers, and tries To put her ear to the painful sob of my blood, While her tears soak through to my breast, Where they burn and cauterise.

The moon lies back and reddens. In the valley, a corncrake calls Monotonously, With a piteous, unalterable plaint, that deadens My confident activity: With a hoarse, insistent request that falls Unweariedly, unweariedly, Asking something more of me, Yet more of me!

REMINDER

Do you remember How night after night swept level and low Overhead, at home, and had not one star, Nor one narrow gate for the moon to go Forth to her field of November.

And you remember, How towards the north a red blot on the sky Burns like a blotch of anxiety Over the forges, and small flames ply Like ghosts the shadow of the ember.

Those were the days When it was awful autumn to me, When only there glowed on the dark of the sky The red reflection of her agony, My beloved smelting down in the blaze

Of death--my dearest Love who had borne, and was now leaving me. And I at the foot of her cross did suffer My own gethsemane.

So I came to you, And twice, after great kisses, I saw The rim of the moon divinely rise And strive to detach herself from the raw Blackened edge of the skies.

Strive to escape; With her whiteness revealing my sunken world Tall and loftily shadowed. But the moon Never magnolia-like unfurled Her white, her lamp-like shape.

For you told me no, And bade me not to ask for the dour Communion, offering--"a better thing." So I lay on your breast for an obscure hour Feeling your fingers go

Like a rhythmic breeze Over my hair, and tracing my brows, Till I knew you not from a little wind: --I wonder now if God allows Us only one moment his keys.

If only then You could have unlocked the moon on the night, And I baptized myself in the light Of your love; we both have entered then the white Pure passion, and never again.

I wonder if only You had taken me then, how different Life would have been: should I have spent Myself in waste, and you have bent Your pride, through being lonely?

BEI HENNEF

The little river twittering in the twilight, The wan, wondering look of the pale sky, This is almost bliss.

And everything shut up and gone to sleep, All the troubles and anxieties and pain Gone under the twilight.

Only the twilight now, and the soft "Sh!" of the river That will last for ever.

And at last I know my love for you is here, I can see it all, it is whole like the twilight, It is large, so large, I could not see it before Because of the little lights and flickers and interruptions, Troubles, anxieties and pains.

LIGHTNING

I felt the lurch and halt of her heart Next my breast, where my own heart was beating; And I laughed to feel it plunge and bound, And strange in my blood-swept ears was the sound Of the words I kept repeating, Repeating with tightened arms, and the hot blood's blindfold art.

Her breath flew warm against my neck, Warm as a flame in the close night air; And the sense of her clinging flesh was sweet Where her arms and my neck's blood-surge could meet. Holding her thus, did I care That the black night hid her from me, blotted out every speck?

I leaned me forward to find her lips, And claim her utterly in a kiss, When the lightning flew across her face, And I saw her for the flaring space Of a second, afraid of the clips Of my arms, inert with dread, wilted in fear of my kiss.

A moment, like a wavering spark, Her face lay there before my breast, Pale love lost in a snow of fear, And guarded by a glittering tear, And lips apart with dumb cries; A moment, and she was taken again in the merciful dark.

I heard the thunder, and felt the rain, And my arms fell loose, and I was dumb. Almost I hated her, she was so good, Hated myself, and the place, and my blood, Which burned with rage, as I bade her come Home, away home, ere the lightning floated forth again.

SONG-DAY IN AUTUMN

When the autumn roses Are heavy with dew, Before the mist discloses The leaf's brown hue, You would, among the laughing hills Of yesterday Walk innocent in the daffodils, Coiffing up your auburn hair In a puritan fillet, a chaste white snare To catch and keep me with you there So far away.

When from the autumn roses Trickles the dew, When the blue mist uncloses And the sun looks through, You from those startled hills Come away, Out of the withering daffodils; Thoughtful, and half afraid, Plaiting a heavy, auburn braid And coiling it round the wise brows of a maid Who was scared in her play.

When in the autumn roses Creeps a bee, And a trembling flower encloses His ecstasy, You from your lonely walk Turn away, And leaning to me like a flower on its stalk, Wait among the beeches For your late bee who beseeches To creep through your loosened hair till he reaches, Your heart of dismay.

AWARE

Slowly the moon is rising out of the ruddy haze, Divesting herself of her golden shift, and so Emerging white and exquisite; and I in amaze See in the sky before me, a woman I did not know I loved, but there she goes and her beauty hurts my heart; I follow her down the night, begging her not to depart.

A PANG OF REMINISCENCE

High and smaller goes the moon, she is small and very far from me, Wistful and candid, watching me wistfully, and I see Trembling blue in her pallor a tear that surely I have seen before, A tear which I had hoped that even hell held not again in store.

A WHITE BLOSSOM

A tiny moon as white and small as a single jasmine flower Leans all alone above my window, on night's wintry bower, Liquid as lime-tree blossom, soft as brilliant water or rain She shines, the one white love of my youth, which all sin cannot stain.

RED MOON-RISE

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