The Poetry of D. H. Lawrence. D. H. LawrenceЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Ballad of a Wilful Woman

       Table of Contents

      FIRST PART Upon her plodding palfrey With a heavy child at her breast And Joseph holding the bridle They mount to the last hill-crest. Dissatisfied and weary She sees the blade of the sea Dividing earth and heaven In a glitter of ecstasy. Sudden a dark-faced stranger With his back to the sun, holds out His arms; so she lights from her palfrey And turns her round about. She has given the child to Joseph, Gone down to the flashing shore; And Joseph, shading his eyes with his hand, Stands watching evermore. SECOND PART THE sea in the stones is singing, A woman binds her hair With yellow, frail sea-poppies, That shine as her fingers stir. While a naked man comes swiftly Like a spurt of white foam rent From the crest of a falling breaker, Over the poppies sent. He puts his surf-wet fingers Over her startled eyes, And asks if she sees the land, the land, The land of her glad surmise. THIRD PART AGAIN in her blue, blue mantle Riding at Joseph's side, She says, "I went to Cythera, And woe betide!" Her heart is a swinging cradle That holds the perfect child, But the shade on her forehead ill becomes A mother mild. So on with the slow, mean journey In the pride of humility; Till they halt at a cliff on the edge of the land Over a sullen sea. While Joseph pitches the sleep-tent She goes far down to the shore To where a man in a heaving boat Waits with a lifted oar. FOURTH PART THEY dwelt in a huge, hoarse sea-cave And looked far down the dark Where an archway torn and glittering Shone like a huge sea-spark. He said: "Do you see the spirits Crowding the bright doorway?" He said: "Do you hear them whispering?" He said: "Do you catch what they say?" FIFTH PART THEN Joseph, grey with waiting, His dark eyes full of pain, Heard: "I have been to Patmos; Give me the child again." Now on with the hopeless journey Looking bleak ahead she rode, And the man and the child of no more account Than the earth the palfrey trode. Till a beggar spoke to Joseph, But looked into her eyes; So she turned, and said to her husband: "I give, whoever denies." SIXTH PART SHE gave on the open heather Beneath bare judgment stars, And she dreamed of her children and Joseph, And the isles, and her men, and her scars. And she woke to distil the berries The beggar had gathered at night, Whence he drew the curious liquors He held in delight. He gave her no crown of flowers, No child and no palfrey slow, Only led her through harsh, hard places Where strange winds blow. She follows his restless wanderings Till night when, by the fire's red stain, Her face is bent in the bitter steam That comes from the flowers of pain. Then merciless and ruthless He takes the flame-wild drops To the town, and tries to sell them With the market-crops. So she follows the cruel journey That ends not anywhere, And dreams, as she stirs the mixing-pot, She is brewing hope from despair. TRIER