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D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). Amores. 1916.

24. Anxiety

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.