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Title: Rabbit Snared In The Night
Author: D. H. Lawrence [
More Titles by Lawrence]
WHY do you spurt and sprottle
like that, bunny?
Why should I want to throttle
you, bunny?
Yes, bunch yourself between
my knees and lie still.
Lie on me with a hot, plumb, live weight,
heavy as a stone, passive,
yet hot, waiting.
What are you waiting for?
What are you waiting for?
What is the hot, plumb weight of your desire on me?
You have a hot, unthinkable desire of me, bunny.
What is that spark
glittering at me on the unutterable darkness of your eye, bunny?
The finest splinter of a spark
that you throw off, straight on the tinder of my nerves!
It sets up a strange fire,
a soft, most unwarrantable burning
a bale-fire mounting, mounting up in me.
'Tis not of me, bunny.
It was you engendered it,
with that fine, demoniacal spark
you jetted off your eye at me.
_I_ did not want it,
this furnace, this draught-maddened fire which mounts up my arms
making them swell with turgid, ungovernable strength.
'Twas not _I_ that wished it,
that my fingers should turn into these flames
avid and terrible
that they are at this moment.
It must have been _your_ inbreathing, gaping desire
that drew this red gush in me;
I must be reciprocating _your_ vacuous, hideous passion.
It must be the want in you
that has drawn this terrible draught of white fire
up my veins as up a chimney.
It must be you who desire
this intermingling of the black and monstrous fingers of Moloch
in the blood-jets of your throat.
Come, you shall have your desire,
since already I am implicated with you in your strange lust.
[The end]
D. H. Lawrence's poem: Rabbit Snared In The Night
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