Sickness

by D. H. Lawrence

　　

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WAVING slowly before me, pushed into the dark,Unseen my hands explore the silence, drawing the barkOf my body slowly behind.Nothing to meet my fingers but the fleece of nightInvisible blinding my face and my eyes! What if in their flightMy hands should touch the door!What if I suddenly stumble, and push the doorOpen, and a great grey dawn swirls over my feet, beforeI can draw back!What if unwitting I set the door of eternity wideAnd am swept away in the horrible dawn, am gone down the tideOf eternal hereafter!Catch my hands, my darling, between your breasts.Take them away from their venture, before fate wrestsThe meaning out of them.

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