D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). Amores. 1916.
25. The Punisher
I
Scooped them up with small, iron words,
Dripping over the runnels.
I watched the tears on the guilty cheek of the boys
Glitter and spill.
Hovering about the Judgment which stood in my eyes,
Whirling a flame.
…….
The tears are dry, and the cheeks’ young fruits are fresh
With laughter, and clear the exonerated eyes, since pain
Beat through the flesh.
Desolate I am as a church whose lights are put out.
And night enters in drearness.
The thorn-leaves crackled and twisted and sweated in anguish;
Then God left the place.
Is heavy, and my heart beats slowly, laboriously,
My strength is shed.