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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=364120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Scent of Irises</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A faint, sickening scent of irises<br>Persists all morning. Here in a jar on the table <br>A fine proud spike of purple irises <br>Rising above the class-room litter, makes me unable<br>To see the class’s lifted and bended faces<br>Save in a broken pattern, amid purple and gold and sable.<br> <br>I can smell the gorgeous bog-end, in its breathless <br>Dazzle of may-blobs, when the marigold glare overcast you <br>With fire on your cheeks and your brow and your chin as you dipped<br>Your face in the marigold bunch, to touch and contrast you,<br>Your own dark mouth with the bridal faint lady-smocks, <br>Dissolved on the golden sorcery you should not outlast. <br> <br>You amid the bog-end’s yellow incantation, <br>You sitting in the cowslips of the meadow above, <br>Me, your shadow on the bog-flame, flowery may-blobs,<br>Me full length in the cowslips, muttering you love; <br>You, your soul like a lady-smock, lost, evanescent, <br>You with your face all rich, like the sheen of a dove. <br> <br>You are always asking, do I remember, remember<br>The butter-cup bog-end where the flowers rose up<br>And kindled you over deep with a cast of gold? <br>You ask again, do the healing days close up <br>The open darkness which then drew us in, <br>The dark which then drank up our brimming cup.<br> <br>You upon the dry, dead beech-leaves, in the fire of night<br>Burnt like a sacrifice; you invisible; <br>Only the fire of darkness, and the scent of you! <br>—And yes, thank God, it still is possible <br>The healing days shall close the darkness up<br>Wherein we fainted like a smoke or dew.<br> <br>Like vapour, dew, or poison. Now, thank God,<br>The fire of night is gone, and your face is ash<br>Indistinguishable on the grey, chill day; <br>The night had burst us out, at last the good <br>Dark fire burns on untroubled, without clash<br>Of you upon the dead leaves saying me Yea.</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=364120" data-title="Scent of Irises de David Herbert Lawrence" data-description="A faint, sickening scent of irises
Persists all morning. Here in a jar on the table 
A fine proud spike of purple irises 
Rising above the class-room litter, makes me unable
To see the class’s lifted and bended faces
Save in a broken pattern, am..."></div>
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