Poem by David Herbert Lawrence

Anxiety

The hoar-frost crumbles in the sun,
The crisping steam of a train
Melts in the air, while two black birds
Sweep past the window again.

Along the vacant road, a red
Bicycle approaches; I wait
In a thaw of anxiety, for the boy
To leap down at our gate.

He has passed us by; but is it
Relief that starts in my breast?
Or a deeper bruise of knowing that still
She has no rest. 

1. Submergence
2. A Sane Revolution
3. Scent Of Irises
4. How Beastly the Bourgeois Is
5. The Mosquito

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