People
by: D.H. Lawrence (1885 - 1930)
The great gold apples of light
Hang from the street's long bough
Dripping their light
On the faces that drift below,
On the faces that drift and blow
Down the night-time, out of sight
In the wind's sad sough.
The ripeness of these apples of night
Distilling over me
Makes sickening the white
Ghost-flux of faces that hie
Them endlessly, endlessly by
Without meaning or reason why
They ever should be.
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On The Balcony
Bei Hennef
Winter's Tale, A
Baby Running Barefoot, A
Love Song, A
Passing Bell, A
Spiritual Woman, A
Baby Asleep After Pain, A
Bride, The
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