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    Look! We Have Come Through!
    Look! We Have Come Through!
    Look! We Have Come Through!
    Ebook132 pages56 minutes

    Look! We Have Come Through!

    By David Herbert Lawrence

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    About this ebook

    DigiCat Publishing presents to you this special edition of "Look! We Have Come Through!" by D. H. Lawrence. DigiCat Publishing considers every written word to be a legacy of humankind. Every DigiCat book has been carefully reproduced for republishing in a new modern format. The books are available in print, as well as ebooks. DigiCat hopes you will treat this work with the acknowledgment and passion it deserves as a classic of world literature.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDigiCat
    Release dateSep 16, 2022
    ISBN8596547379904
    Look! We Have Come Through!
    Author

    David Herbert Lawrence

    David Herbert (D. H.) Lawrence was a prolific English novelist, essayist, poet, playwright, literary critic and painter. His most notable works include Lady Chatterley’s Lover, The Rainbow, Sons and Lovers and Women in Love.

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      Book preview

      Look! We Have Come Through! - David Herbert Lawrence

      D. H. Lawrence

      Look! We Have Come Through!

      EAN 8596547379904

      DigiCat, 2022

      Contact: [email protected]

      Table of Contents

      FOREWORD

      ARGUMENT

      ELEGY

      NONENTITY

      MARTYR À LA MODE

      DON JUAN

      THE SEA

      HYMN TO PRIAPUS

      BALLAD OF A WILFUL WOMAN

      FIRST MORNING

      SHE LOOKS BACK

      ON THE BALCONY

      FROHNLEICHNAM

      IN THE DARK

      HUMILIATION

      GREEN

      RIVER ROSES

      GLOIRE DE DIJON

      ROSE OF ALL THE WORLD

      QUITE FORSAKEN

      FORSAKEN AND FORLORN

      FIREFLIES IN THE CORN

      SINNERS

      MISERY

      WINTER DAWN

      WHY DOES SHE WEEP?

      GIORNO DEI MORTI

      ALL SOULS

      LADY WIFE

      BOTH SIDES OF THE MEDAL

      LOGGERHEADS

      DECEMBER NIGHT

      NEW YEAR'S EVE

      NEW YEAR'S NIGHT

      VALENTINE'S NIGHT

      BIRTH NIGHT

      RABBIT SNARED IN THE NIGHT

      PARADISE RE-ENTERED

      SPRING MORNING

      WEDLOCK

      HISTORY

      ONE WOMAN TO ALL WOMEN

      PEOPLE

      STREET LAMPS

      NEW HEAVEN AND EARTH

      ELYSIUM

      MANIFESTO

      AUTUMN RAIN

      FROST FLOWERS

      CRAVING FOR SPRING

      FOREWORD

      Table of Contents

      THESE poems should not be considered separately, as so many single pieces. They are intended as an essential story, or history, or confession, unfolding one from the other in organic development, the whole revealing the intrinsic experience of a man during the crisis of manhood, when he marries and comes into himself. The period covered is, roughly, the sixth lustre of a man's life

      ARGUMENT

      Table of Contents

      After much struggling and loss in love and in the world of man, the protagonist throws in his lot with a woman who is already married. Together they go into another country, she perforce leaving her children behind. The conflict of love and hate goes on between the man and the woman, and between these two and the world around them, till it reaches some sort of conclusion, they transcend into some condition of blessedness

      MOONRISE

      AND who has seen the moon, who has not seen

      Her rise from out the chamber of the deep,

      Flushed and grand and naked, as from the chamber

      Of finished bridegroom, seen her rise and throw

      Confession of delight upon the wave,

      Littering the waves with her own superscription

      Of bliss, till all her lambent beauty shakes towards

      us

      Spread out and known at last, and we are sure

      That beauty is a thing beyond the grave,

      That perfect, bright experience never falls

      To nothingness, and time will dim the moon

      Sooner than our full consummation here

      In this odd life will tarnish or pass away.

      ELEGY

      Table of Contents

      THE sun immense and rosy

      Must have sunk and become extinct

      The night you closed your eyes for ever against me.

      Grey days, and wan, dree dawnings

      Since then, with fritter of flowers—

      Day wearies me with its ostentation and fawnings.

      Still, you left me the nights,

      The great dark glittery window,

      The bubble hemming this empty existence with

      lights.

      Still in the vast hollow

      Like a breath in a bubble spinning

      Brushing the stars, goes my soul, that skims the

      bounds like a swallow!

      I can look through

      The film of the bubble night, to where you are.

      Through the film I can almost touch you.

      EASTWOOD

      NONENTITY

      Table of Contents

      THE stars that open and shut

      Fall on my shallow breast

      Like stars on a pool.

      The soft wind, blowing cool

      Laps little crest after crest

      Of ripples across my breast.

      And dark grass under my feet

      Seems to dabble in me

      Like grass in a brook.

      Oh, and it is sweet

      To be all these things, not to be

      Any more myself.

      For look,

      I am weary of myself!

      MARTYR À LA MODE

      Table of Contents

      AH God, life, law, so many names you keep,

      You great, you patient Effort, and you Sleep

      That does inform this various dream of living,

      You sleep stretched out for ever, ever giving

      Us out as dreams, you august Sleep

      Coursed round by rhythmic movement of all

      time,

      The constellations, your great heart, the sun

      Fierily pulsing, unable to refrain;

      Since you, vast, outstretched, wordless Sleep

      Permit of no beyond, ah you, whose dreams

      We are, and body of sleep, let it never be said

      I quailed at my appointed function, turned poltroon

      For when at night, from out the full surcharge

      Of a day's experience, sleep does slowly draw

      The harvest, the spent action to itself;

      Leaves me unburdened to begin again;

      At night, I say, when I am gone in sleep,

      Does my slow heart rebel, do my dead hands

      Complain of what the day has had them do?

      Never let it be said I was poltroon

      At this my task of living, this my dream,

      This me which rises from

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