Explore "Street Lamps" by D.H. Lawrence on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
GOLD, with an innermost speck / Of silver, singing afloat / Beneath the night, / Like balls of thistle-down / Wandering up and down / Over the whispering town / Seeking where to alight!
Slowly, above the street / Above the ebb of feet / Drifting in flight; / Still, in the purple distance / The gold of their strange persistence / As they cross and part and meet / And pass out of sight!
The seed-ball of the sun / Is broken at last, and done / Is the orb of day. / Now to the separate ends / Seed after day-seed wends / A separate way.
No sun will ever rise / Again on the wonted skies / In the midst of the spheres. / The globe of the day, over-ripe, / Is shattered at last beneath the stripe / Of the wind, and its oneness veers / Out myriad-wise.
Seed after seed after seed / Drifts over the town, in its need / To sink and have done; / To settle at last in the dark, / To bury its weary spark / Where the end is begun.
Darkness, and depth of sleep, / Nothing to know or to weep / Where the seed sinks in / To the earth of the under-night / Where all is silent, quite / Still, and the darknesses steep / Out all the sin.