D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). Amores. 1916.
52. After Many Days
I
If under your slipping words, that easily flow
About you as a garment, easily,
Your violent heart beats to and fro!
Even to myself, how bitter the separation;
Now, being come again, how make the best
Reparation?
If I could lift my naked self to you,
Of if only you would repulse me, a wound would be
Good; it would let the ache come through.
Aloof my floating heart will not allow;
Yea, but I loathe you that you should withhold
Your pleasure now.