Everlasting Flowers
by David Herbert Lawrence (1885-1930)

Who do you think stands watching
      The snow-tops shining rosy
In heaven, now that the darkness
      Takes all but the tallest posy?

Who then sees the two-winged
      Boat down there, all alone
And asleep on the snow’s last shadow,
      Like a moth on a stone?

The olive-leaves, light as gad-flies,
      Have all gone dark, gone black.
And now in the dark my soul to you
      Turns back.

To you, my little darling,
      To you, out of Italy.
For what is loveliness, my love,
      Save you have it with me!

So, there’s an oxen wagon
      Comes darkly into sight:
A man with a lantern, swinging
      A little light.

What does he see, my darling
      Here by the darkened lake?
Here, in the sloping shadow
      The mountains make?

He says not a word, but passes,
      Staring at what he sees.
What ghost of us both do you think he saw
      Under the olive trees?

All the things that are lovely—
      The things you never knew—
I wanted to gather them one by one
      And bring them to you.

But never now, my darling
      Can I gather the mountain-tips
From the twilight like half-shut lilies
      To hold to your lips.

And never the two-winged vessel
      That sleeps below on the lake
Can I catch like a moth between my hands
      For you to take.

But hush, I am not regretting:
      It is far more perfect now.
I’ll whisper the ghostly truth to the world
      And tell them how

I know you here in the darkness,
      How you sit in the throne of my eyes
At peace, and look out of the windows
      In glad surprise.

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