The hoar-frost crumbles in the sun,
The crisping steam of a train
Melts in the air, while two black birds
Sweep past the window again.
Along the vacant road, a red
Bicycle approaches; I wait
In a thaw of anxiety, for the boy
To leap down at our gate.
He has passed us by; but is it
Relief that starts in my breast?
Or a deeper bruise of knowing that still
She has no rest.
D. H. Lawrence
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
More Poems by D. H. Lawrence
Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on Anxiety
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Anxiety here.
Commenting turned off, sorry.