She hid her face, she murmured between her Hps 



The low word ' Don't ! ' I let the flower fall, 



But held my hand afloat still towards the slips 



Of blossom she fingered, and my crisp fingers all 



Put forth to her : she did not move, nor I, 



For my hand like a snake watched hers that could 



not fly. 

 Then I laughed in the dark of my heart, I did exult 

 Like a sudden chuckling of music : I bade her eyes 

 Meet mine, I opened her helpless eyes to consult 

 Their fear, their shame, their joy that underlies 

 Defeat in such a battle : in the dark of her eyes 

 My heart was fierce to make her laughter rise . . . 

 Till her dark deeps shook with convulsive thrills, and 



the dark 

 Of her spirit wavered like water thrilled with light, 

 And my heart leaped up in a longing to plunge its stark 

 Fervour within the pool of her twihght : 

 Within her spacious gloom, in the mystery 

 Of her barbarous soul, to grope with ecstasy . . . 



And I do not care though the large hands of revenge 



Shall get my throat at last — shall get it soon. 



If the joy that they are lifted to avenge 



Have risen red on my night as a harvest moon, 



Which even death can only put out for me, 



And death I know is better than not-to-be. 



D. H. LAWRENCE. 



34 



