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

44. Reproach

HAD I but known yesterday,

Helen, you could discharge the ache

Out of the cloud;

Had I known yesterday you could take

The turgid electric ache away,

Drink it up with your proud

White body, as lovely white lightning

Is drunk from an agonised sky by the earth,

I might have hated you, Helen.

But since my limbs gushed full of fire,

Since from out of my blood and bone

Poured a heavy flame

To you, earth of my atmosphere, stone

Of my steel, lovely white flint of desire,

You have no name.

Earth of my swaying atmosphere,

Substance of my inconstant breath,

I cannot but cleave to you.

Since you have drunken up the drear

Painful electric storm, and death

Is washed from the blue

Of my eyes, I see you beautiful.

You are strong and passive and beautiful,

I come like winds that uncertain hover;

But you

Are the earth I hover over.