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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=364079" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Discipline</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is stormy, and raindrops cling like silver bees to the pane,<br>The thin sycamores in the playground are swinging with flattened leaves;<br>The heads of the boys move dimly through a yellow gloom that stains<br>The class; over them all the dark net of my discipline weaves. <br> <br>It is no good, dear, gentleness and forbearance, I endured too long:<br>I have pushed my hands in the dark soil, under the flower of my soul<br>And the gentle leaves, and have felt where the roots are strong<br>Fixed in the darkness, grappling for the deep soil’s little control.<br> <br>And there is the dark, my darling, where the roots are entangled and fight<br>Each one for its hold on the oblivious darkness, I know that there<br>In the night where we first have being, before we rise on the light,<br>We are not brothers, my darling, we fight and we do not spare.<br> <br>And in the original dark the roots cannot keep, cannot know<br>Any communion whatever, but they bind themselves on to the dark,<br>And drawing the darkness together, crush from it a twilight, a slow<br>Burning that breaks at last into leaves and a flower’s bright spark.<br> <br>I came to the boys with love, my dear, but they turned on me;<br>I came with gentleness, with my heart ’twixt my hands like a bowl,<br>Like a loving-cup, like a grail, but they spilt it triumphantly<br>And tried to break the vessel, and to violate my soul.<br> <br>But what have I to do with the boys, deep down in my soul, my love?<br>I throw from out of the darkness my self like a flower into sight,<br>Like a flower from out of the night-time, I lift my face, and those<br>Who will may warm their hands at me, comfort this night. <br> <br>But whosoever would pluck apart my flowering shall burn their hands,<br>So flowers are tender folk, and roots can only hide, <br>Yet my flowerings of love are a fire, and the scarlet brands<br>Of my love are roses to look at, but flames to chide. <br> <br>But comfort me, my love, now the fires are low, <br>Now I am broken to earth like a winter destroyed, and all<br>Myself but a knowledge of roots, of roots in the dark that throw<br>A net on the undersoil, which lies passive beneath their thrall.<br> <br>But comfort me, for henceforth my love is yours alone,<br>To you alone will I offer the bowl, to you will I give <br>My essence only, but love me, and I will atone<br>To you for my general loving, atone as long as I live.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Herbert+Lawrence">David Herbert Lawrence</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=364079" data-title="Discipline de David Herbert Lawrence" data-description="It is stormy, and raindrops cling like silver bees to the pane,
The thin sycamores in the playground are swinging with flattened leaves;
The heads of the boys move dimly through a yellow gloom that stains
The class; over them all the dark net of m..."></div>
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