Sunday, 3 July 2011

d. h. lawrence


Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evening s at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.


Titus said...

..The glamour
Of childish days is upon me...

I come and go with Lawrence tremendously when it comes to the prose. Really liked this.

swiss said...

yes, it has to be said i'm not the biggest lawrence fan either ut this one took me back to the pianon learning days

Dominic Rivron said...

Took me back to poetry learning days. As for the piano, yet to manage a "great black piano appassionato".

Have you come across this Tour de France gizmo? Just found it -it's late evening- so I've not seen it in action yet:

swiss said...

now that's a gizmo for a proper tour nerd! i love it!