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1885–1930

FORSAKEN AND FORLORN

David Herbert Lawrence

THE house is silent, it is late at night, I am alone. From the balcony I can hear the Isar moan, Can see the white

Rift of the river eerily, between the pines, under a sky of stone. Some fireflies drift through the middle air Tinily. I wonder where

Ends this darkness that annihilates me.

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FORSAKEN AND FORLORN · David Herbert Lawrence · Poetry Cove