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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=364119" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Restlessness</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the open door of the room I stand and look at the night,<br>Hold my hand to catch the raindrops, that slant into sight,<br>Arriving grey from the darkness above suddenly into the light of the room.<br>I will escape from the hollow room, the box of light, <br>And be out in the bewildering darkness, which is always fecund, which might<br>Mate my hungry soul with a germ of its womb.<br> <br>I will go out to the night, as a man goes down to the shore <br>To draw his net through the surf’s thin line, at the dawn before <br>The sun warms the sea, little, lonely and sad, sifting the sobbing tide.<br>I will sift the surf that edges the night, with my net, the four<br>Strands of my eyes and my lips and my hands and my feet, sifting the store<br>Of flotsam until my soul is tired or satisfied. <br> <br>I will catch in my eyes’ quick net <br>The faces of all the women as they go past, <br>Bend over them with my soul, to cherish the wet<br>Cheeks and wet hair a moment, saying: “Is it you?” <br>Looking earnestly under the dark umbrellas, held fast<br>Against the wind; and if, where the lamplight blew <br>Its rainy swill about us, she answered me <br>With a laugh and a merry wildness that it was she<br>Who was seeking me, and had found me at last to free<br>Me now from the stunting bonds of my chastity, <br>How glad I should be! <br> <br>Moving along in the mysterious ebb of the night <br>Pass the men whose eyes are shut like anemones in a dark pool;<br>Why don’t they open with vision and speak to me, what have they in sight?<br>Why do I wander aimless among them, desirous fool?<br>I can always linger over the huddled books on the stalls,<br>Always gladden my amorous fingers with the touch of their leaves,<br>Always kneel in courtship to the shelves in the doorways, where falls<br>The shadow, always offer myself to one mistress, who always receives.<br> <br>But oh, it is not enough, it is all no good.<br>There is something I want to feel in my running blood,<br>Something I want to touch; I must hold my face to the rain,<br>I must hold my face to the wind, and let it explain<br>Me its life as it hurries in secret. <br>I will trail my hands again through the drenched, cold leaves<br>Till my hands are full of the chillness and touch of leaves,<br>Till at length they induce me to sleep, and to forget.</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=364119" data-title="Restlessness de David Herbert Lawrence" data-description="At the open door of the room I stand and look at the night,
Hold my hand to catch the raindrops, that slant into sight,
Arriving grey from the darkness above suddenly into the light of the room.
I will escape from the hollow room, the box of light..."></div>
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