D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). New Poems. 1916.

11. Hyde Park at Night, before the War

Clerks.

WE have shut the doors behind us, and the velvet flowers of night

Lean about us scattering their pollen grains of golden light.

Now at last we lift our faces, and our faces come aflower

To the night that takes us willing, liberates us to the hour.

Now at last the ink and dudgeon passes from our fervent eyes

And out of the chambered weariness wanders a spirit abroad on its enterprise.

Not too near and not too far

Out of the stress of the crowd

Music screams as elephants scream

When they lift their trunks and scream aloud

For joy of the night when masters are

Asleep and adream.

So here I hide in the Shalimar

With a wanton princess slender and proud,

And we swoon with kisses, swoon till we seem

Two streaming peacocks gone in a cloud

Of golden dust, with star after star

On our stream.