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Poem by David Herbert Lawrence


A wind comes from the north
Blowing little flocks of birds
Like spray across the town,
And a train, roaring forth,
Rushes stampeding down
With cries and flying curds
Of steam, out of the darkening north.

Whither I turn and set
Like a needle steadfastly,
Waiting ever to get
The news that she is free;
But ever fixed, as yet,
To the lode of her agony. 

David Herbert Lawrence

David Herbert Lawrence's other poems:
  1. Discipline
  2. Meeting among the Mountains
  3. Brooding Grief
  4. Bat
  5. Scent Of Irises

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Thomas Dekker Patience ("Patience! why, 'tis the soul of peace")
  • Edith Wharton Patience ("PATIENCE and I have traveled hand in hand")

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