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D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence
David Herbert Lawrence (1885-1930) was an English novelist, poet, essayist, and critic, known for his profound explorations of human emotions, sexuality, and modernity. His most famous works include "Sons and Lovers," "The Rainbow," and "Lady Chatterley's Lover," which challenged the conventions of his time with their candid depictions of intimate relationships and social issues. Despite facing significant censorship and controversy, Lawrence's literary contributions have had a lasting impact on 20th-century literature and thought.
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Chapter 1 'Take off that mute, do!' cried Louisa, snatching her fingers from the piano keys, and turning abruptly to the violinist. Helena looked slowly from her music. 'My dear Louisa,' she replied, 'it would be simply unendurable.' She stood tapping her white skirt with her bow in a kind of a pathetic forbearance. 'But I can't understand it,' cried Louisa,...
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The Crucifix Across the Mountains The imperial road to Italy goes from Munich across the Tyrol, through Innsbruck and Bozen to Verona, over the mountains. Here the great processions passed as the emperors went South, or came home again from rosy Italy to their own Germany. And how much has that old imperial vanity clung to the German soul? Did not the German kings inherit the empire of bygone Rome? It...
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CHAPTER I THE DECLINE OF MANCHESTER HOUSE Take a mining townlet like Woodhouse, with a population of ten thousand people, and three generations behind it. This space of three generations argues a certain well-established society. The old "County" has fled from the sight of so much disembowelled coal, to flourish on mineral rights in regions still idyllic. Remains one great and inaccessible...
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TEASE I WILL give you all my keys, You shall be my châtelaine,You shall enter as you please, As you please shall go again. When I hear you jingling through All the chambers of my soul,How I sit and laugh at you In your vain housekeeping rôle. Jealous of the smallest cover, Angry at the simplest door;Well, you anxious, inquisitive lover, Are you pleased with what's in store? You...
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They had marched more than thirty kilometres since dawn, along the white, hot road where occasional thickets of trees threw a moment of shade, then out into the glare again. On either hand, the valley, wide and shallow, glittered with heat; dark green patches of rye, pale young corn, fallow and meadow and black pine woods spread in a dull, hot diagram under a glistening sky. But right in front the...
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GUARDS! A Review in Hyde Park 1913.The Crowd Watches. WHERE the trees rise like cliffs, proud and blue-tinted in the distance,Between the cliffs of the trees, on the grey- green parkRests a still line of soldiers, red motionless range of guardsSmouldering with darkened busbies beneath the bay- onets' slant rain. Colossal in nearness a blue police sits still on his horseGuarding the...
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BABY TORTOISE You know what it is to be born alone,Baby tortoise!The first day to heave your feet little by littlefrom the shell,Not yet awake,And remain lapsed on earth,Not quite alive. A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean. To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as ifit would never open,Like some iron door;To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower baseAnd reach your skinny little neckAnd take your...
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CHAPTER I. Ursula and Gudrun Brangwen sat one morning in the window-bay of their father's house in Beldover, working and talking. Ursula was stitching a piece of brightly-coloured embroidery, and Gudrun was drawing upon a board which she held on her knee. They were mostly silent, talking as their thoughts strayed through their minds. 'Ursula,' said Gudrun, 'don't you REALLY...
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FORWARD The present book is a continuation from "Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious." The generality of readers had better just leave it alone. The generality of critics likewise. I really don't want to convince anybody. It is quite in opposition to my whole nature. I don't intend my books for the generality of readers. I count it a mistake of our mistaken democracy, that every man...
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APPREHENSION AND all hours long, the town Roars like a beast in a caveThat is wounded thereAnd like to drown; While days rush, wave after waveOn its lair. An invisible woe unseals The flood, so it passes beyondAll bounds: the great old cityRecumbent roars as it feels The foamy paw of the pondReach from immensity. But all that it can do Now, as the tide rises,Is to listen and hear the...
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