Lotus Hurt by the Cold (David Herbert Lawrence Poems)
How many times, like lotus lilies risen Upon the surface of a river, there Have risen floating on my blood ...
How many times, like lotus lilies risen Upon the surface of a river, there Have risen floating on my blood ...
The five old bells Are hurrying and eagerly calling, Imploring, protesting They know, but clamorously falling Into gabbling incoherence, never ...
What large, dark hands are those at the window Lifted, grasping in the yellow light Which makes its way through ...
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