Poem by David Herbert Lawrence

Lies about Love

We are a liars, because
the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow,
whereas letters are fixed,
and we live by the letter of truth.
The love I feel for my friend, this year,
is different from the love I felt last year.
If it were not so, it would be a lie.
Yet we reiterate love! love! love!
as if it were a coin with a fixed value
instead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.

1. The Hands of the Betrothed
2. Nostalgia
3. Fish
4. To Women As Far As I'm Concerned
5. Elegy

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