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

32. Dolor of Autumn

THE ACRID scents of autumn,

Reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear

Everything, tear-trembling stars of autumn

And the snore of the night in my ear.

For suddenly, flush-fallen,

All my life, in a rush

Of shedding away, has left me

Naked, exposed on the bush.

I, on the bush of the globe,

Like a newly-naked berry, shrink

Disclosed: but I also am prowling

As well in the scents that slink

Abroad: I in this naked berry

Of flesh that stands dismayed on the bush;

And I in the stealthy, brindled odours

Prowling about the lush

And acrid night of autumn;

My soul, along with the rout,

Rank and treacherous, prowling,

Disseminated out.

For the night, with a great breath intaken,

Has taken my spirit outside

Me, till I reel with disseminated consciousness,

Like a man who has died.

At the same time I stand exposed

Here on the bush of the globe,

A newly-naked berry of flesh

For the stars to probe.