Explore "Southern Night" by D.H. Lawrence on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Come up, thou red thing. / Come up, and be called a moon.
The mosquitoes are biting to-night / Like memories.
Memories, northern memories, / Bitter-stinging white world that bore us / Subsiding into this night.
Call it moonrise / This red anathema?
Rise, thou red thing, / Unfold slowly upwards, blood-dark; / Burst the night's membrane of tranquil stars / Finally.
Maculate / The red Macula. / _Taormina._