D. H. Lawrence

BY the Isar, in the twilight

We were wandering and singing;

By the Isar, in the evening

We climbed the huntsman’s ladder and sat swinging

In the fir-tree overlooking the marshes;

While river met with river, and the ringing

Of their pale-green glacier-water filled the evening.

By the Isar, in the twilight

We found our warm wild roses

Hanging red at the river; and simmering

Frogs were singing, and over the river closes

Was scent of roses, and glimmering

In the twilight, our kisses across the roses

Met, and her face, and my face, were roses.

When she rises in the morning

I linger to watch her.

She stands in silhouette against the window,

And the sunbeams catch her

Glistening white on the shoulders;

While down her sides, the mellow

Golden shadow glows, and her breasts

Swing like full-blown yellow

Gloire de Dijon roses.

She drips herself with water,

And her shoulders

Glisten as silver, they crumple up

Like wet and shaken roses, and I listen

For the rustling of their white, unfolding petals.

In the window full of sunlight

She stirs her golden shadow,

And flashes all herself as sun-bright

As if roses fought with roses.

III

Just a few of the roses we gathered from the Isar

Are fallen, and their mauve-red petals on the cloth

Float like boats on a river, waiting

For a fairy-wind to wake them from their sloth.

She laughs at me across the table, saying

She loves me; and I blow a little boat

Rocking down the shoals between the tea-cups

And so kiss-beladen that it scarce can float.

Now like a rose come tip-toe out of bud

I see the woman’s soul steal in her eyes,

And wide in ecstasy I sit and watch

The unknown flower issued magic-wise.

And day by day out of the envious bud

My treasure softly slips uncurled,

And day by day my happiness vibrates

In wide and wider circles round the world.

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