Discipline Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis


It is stormy and raindrops cling like silver bees to the paneA
The thin sycamores in the playground are swinging with flattened leavesB
The heads of the boys move dimly through a yellow gloom that stainsC
The class over them all the dark net of my discipline weavesB
It is no good dear gentleness and forbearance I endured too longD
I have pushed my hands in the dark soil under the flower of my soulE
And the gentle leaves and have felt where the roots are strongD
Fixed in the darkness grappling for the deep soil's little controlE
And there is the dark my darling where the roots are entangled and fightF
Each one for its hold on the oblivious darkness I know that thereG
In the night where we first have being before we rise on the lightF
We are not brothers my darling we fight and we do not spareG
And in the original dark the roots cannot keep cannot knowH
Any communion whatever but they bind themselves on to the darkI
And drawing the darkness together crush from it a twilight a slowH
Burning that breaks at last into leaves and a flower's bright sparkI
I came to the boys with love my dear but they turned on meJ
I came with gentleness with my heart 'twixt my hands like a bowlE
Like a loving cup like a grail but they spilt it triumphantlyJ
And tried to break the vessel and to violate my soulE
But what have I to do with the boys deep down in my soul my loveK
I throw from out of the darkness my self like a flower into sightF
Like a flower from out of the night time I lift my face and thoseL
Who will may warm their hands at me comfort this nightF
But whosoever would pluck apart my flowering shall burn their handsM
So flowers are tender folk and roots can only hideN
Yet my flowerings of love are a fire and the scarlet brandsM
Of my love are roses to look at but flames to chideN
But comfort me my love now the fires are lowH
Now I am broken to earth like a winter destroyed and allO
Myself but a knowledge of roots of roots in the dark that throwH
A net on the undersoil which lies passive beneath their thrallO
But comfort me for henceforth my love is yours aloneP
To you alone will I offer the bowl to you will I giveQ
My essence only but love me and I will atoneP
To you for my general loving atone as long as I liveR

D. H. Lawrence


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