Southern Night

by D. H. Lawrence

D. H. Lawrence

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
The red Macula.

Last updated January 14, 2019