Love storm

by D. H. Lawrence

　　

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MANY roses in the windAre tapping at the window-sash.A hawk is in the sky; his wingsSlowly begin to plash.The roses with the west wind rappingAre torn away, and a splashOf red goes down the billowing air.Still hangs the hawk, with the whole sky movingPast him—only a wing-beat provingThe will that holds him there.The daisies in the grass are bending,The hawk has dropped, the wind is spendingAll the roses, and unendingRustle of leaves washes out the rendingCry of a bird.A red rose goes on the wind.—AscendingThe hawk his wind-swept way is wendingEasily down the sky. The daisies, sendingStrange white signals, seem intendingTo show the place whence the scream was heard.But, oh, my heart, what birds are piping!A silver wind is hastily wipingThe face of the youngest rose.And oh, my heart, cease apprehending!The hawk is gone, a rose is tappingThe window-sash as the west-wind blows.Knock, knock, 'tis no more than a red rose rapping,And fear is a plash of wings.What, then, if a scarlet rose goes flappingDown the bright-grey ruin of things!

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