Embankment at night, charity

by D. H. Lawrence

　　

---

Charity.BY the riverIn the black wet night as the furtive rain slinks down,Dropping and starting from sleepAlone on a seatA woman crouches.I must go back to her.I want to give herSome money. Her hand slips out of the breast of her gownAsleep. My fingers creepCarefully over the sweetThumb-mound, into the palm's deep pouches.So, the gift!God, how she starts!And looks at me, and looks in the palm of her hand!And again at me!I turn and runDown the Embankment, run for my life.But why?—why?Because of my heart'sBeating like sobs, I come to myself, and standIn the street spilled over splendidlyWith wet, flat lights. What I've doneI know not, my soul is in strife.The touch was on the quick. I want to forget.

---

---