The hoar-frost crumbles in the sun,
The crisping steam of a train
Melts in the air, while two black birds
Sweep past the window again.
Along the vacant road, a red
Bicycle approaches; I wait
In a thaw of anxiety, for the boy
To leap down at our gate.
He has passed us by; but is it
Relief that starts in my breast?
Or a deeper bruise of knowing that still
She has no rest.
(David Herbert Lawrence)
More Poetry from David Herbert Lawrence:
- Bei Hennef (David Herbert Lawrence Poems)
- Drunk (David Herbert Lawrence Poem)
- The Song of a Man Who has Come Through (David Herbert Lawrence Poem)
- If You are a Man (David Herbert Lawrence Poem)
- Patience (David Herbert Lawrence Poem)
- Nothing To Save (David Herbert Lawrence Poem)