Debacle

by D. H. Lawrence

　　

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THE trees in trouble because of autumn, And scarlet berries falling from the bush,And all the myriad houseless seeds Loosing hold in the wind's insistent pushMoan softly with autumnal parturition, Poor, obscure fruits extruded out of lightInto the world of shadow, carried down Between the bitter knees of the after-night.Bushed in an uncouth ardour, coiled at core With a knot of life that only bliss can unravel,Fall all the fruits most bitterly into earth Bitterly into corrosion bitterly travel.What is it internecine that is locked, By very fierceness into a quiescenceWithin the rage? We shall not know till it burst Out of corrosion into new florescence.Nay, but how tortured is the frightful seed The spark intense within it, all withoutMordant corrosion gnashing and champing hard For ruin on the naked small redoubt.Bitter, to fold the issue, and make no sally; To have the mystery, but not go forth;To bear, but retaliate nothing, given to save The spark in storms of corrosion, as seeds from the north.The sharper, more horrid the pressure, the harder the heart That saves the blue grain of eternal fireWithin its quick, committed to hold and wait And suffer unheeding, only forbidden to expire.

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