Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LETTER FROM TOWN: ON A GREY MORNING IN MARCH, by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE



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LETTER FROM TOWN: ON A GREY MORNING IN MARCH, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: The clouds are pushing in grey reluctance slowly northward to you
Last Line: To hear on its mocking triumphance unwitting the after-echo of fear.
Alternate Author Name(s): Lawrence, D. H.


THE clouds are pushing in grey reluctance slowly northward to you,
While north of them all, at the farthest ends, stands one
bright-bosomed, aglance
With fire as it guards the wild north cloud-coasts,
red-fire seas running through
The rocks where ravens flying to windward melt as a well-shot lance.

You should be out by the orchard, where violets secretly
darken the earth,
Or there in the woods of the twilight, with northern
wind-flowers shaken astir.
Think of me here in the library, trying and trying a song
that is worth
Tears and swords to my heart, arrows no armour will turn or deter.

You tell me the lambs have come, they lie like daisies
white in the grass
Of the dark-green hills; new calves in shed; peewits turn
after the plough --
It is well for you. For me the navvies work in the road where I pass
And I want to smite in anger the barren rock of each waterless brow.

Like the sough of a wind that is caught up high in the mesh
of the budding trees,
A sudden car goes sweeping past, and I strain my soul to hear
The voice of the furtive triumphant engine as it rushes
past like a breeze,
To hear on its mocking triumphance unwitting the after-echo of fear.






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