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About this Poem 

“Winter-Lull” was published in Bay (Beaumont Press, 1919).

Winter-Lull

Because of the silent snow, we are all hushed
                 Into awe.
No sound of guns, nor overhead no rushed
                 Vibration to draw
Our attention out of the void wherein we are crushed.

A crow floats past on level wings
                 Noiselessly.
Uninterrupted silence swings
                 Invisibly, inaudibly 
To and fro in our misgivings.

We do not look at each other, we hide
                 Our daunted eyes.
White earth, and ruins, ourselves, and nothing beside.
                 It all belies
Our existence; we wait, and are still denied.

We are folded together, men and the snowy ground
                 Into nullity.
There is silence, only the silence, never a sound
                 Nor a verity
To assist us; disastrously silence-bound!

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on January 13, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on January 13, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.

D. H. Lawrence

D. H. Lawrence

David Herbert Lawrence, novelist, short-story writer, poet, and essayist, was born in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire, England, on September 11, 1885. Though better known as a novelist, Lawrence's first-published works (in 1909) were poems, and his poetry, especially his evocations of the natural world, have since had a significant influence on many poets on both sides of the Atlantic.

by this poet

poem
See the stars, love,  
In the water much clearer and brighter  
Than those above us, and whiter,  
Like nenuphars.  
  
Star-shadows shine, love, 
How many stars in your bowl?  
How many shadows in your soul,  
Only mine, love, mine?  
  
When I move the oars, love,  
See how the stars are tossed, 
Distorted,
poem
The youth walks up to the white horse, to put its halter on
and the horse looks at him in silence.
They are so silent, they are in another world.
poem
Ah in the thunder air
how still the trees are!

And the lime-tree, lovely and tall, every leaf silent
hardly looses even a last breath of perfume.

And the ghostly, creamy coloured little tree of leaves
white, ivory white among the rambling greens
how evanescent, variegated elder, she hesitates on the green