Home  »  Amores: Poems  »  37. Lotus Hurt by the Cold

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

37. Lotus Hurt by the Cold

HOW many times, like lotus lilies risen

Upon the surface of a river, there

Have risen floating on my blood the rare

Soft glimmers of my hope escaped from prison.

So I am clothed all over with the light

And sensitive beautiful blossoming of passion;

Till naked for her in the finest fashion

The flowers of all my mud swim into sight.

And then I offer all myself unto

This woman who likes to love me: but she turns

A look of hate upon the flower that burns

To break and pour her out its precious dew.

And slowly all the blossom shuts in pain,

And all the lotus buds of love sink over

To die unopened: when my moon-faced lover,

Kind on the weight of suffering, smiles again.