How many times, like lotus lilies risen 
Upon the surface of a river, there 
Have risen floating on my blood the rare 
Soft glimmers of my hope escaped from prison.

So I am clothed all over with the light
And sensitive beautiful blossoming of passion;
Till naked for her in the finest fashion 
The flowers of all my mud swim into sight. 

And then I offer all myself unto 
This woman who likes to love me: but she turns
A look of hate upon the flower that burns 
To break and pour her out its precious dew. 

And slowly all the blossom shuts in pain, 
And all the lotus buds of love sink over 
To die unopened: when my moon-faced lover,
Kind on the weight of suffering, smiles again. 

Added: Mar 18 2005 | Viewed: 785 times | Comments (0)

Poet: D.H. Lawrence
Poem: Lotus Hurt by the Cold

There are no comments for this poem. Why not be the first one to post something about it?

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Lotus Hurt by the Cold, has not yet been commented on. You can click here to be the first to post a comment about it. Of course you can also always discuss poems by D.H. Lawrence with others on the Poetry Connection poetry forum!