D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). New Poems. 1916.
30. Everlasting Flowers
W
The snow-tops shining rosy
In heaven, now that the darkness
Takes all but the tallest posy?
Boat down there, all alone
And asleep on the snow’s last shadow,
Like a moth on a stone?
Have all gone dark, gone black.
And now in the dark my soul to you
Turns back.
To you, out of Italy.
For what is loveliness, my love,
Save you have it with me!
Comes darkly into sight:
A man with a lantern, swinging
A little light.
Here by the darkened lake?
Here, in the sloping shadow
The mountains make?
Staring at what he sees.
What ghost of us both do you think he saw
Under the olive trees?
The things you never knew—
I wanted to gather them one by one
And bring them to you.
Can I gather the mountain-tips
From the twilight like half-shut lilies
To hold to your lips.
That sleeps below on the lake
Can I catch like a moth between my hands
For you to take.
It is far more perfect now.
I’ll whisper the ghostly truth to the world
And tell them how
How you sit in the throne of my eyes
At peace, and look out of the windows
In glad surprise.