Analysis of Restlessness
David Herbert Lawrence 1885 (Eastwood, Nottinghamshire) – 1930 (Vence)
At the open door of the room I stand and look at the night,
Hold my hand to catch the raindrops, that slant into sight,
Arriving grey from the darkness above suddenly into the light of the room.
I will escape from the hollow room, the box of light,
And be out in the bewildering darkness, which is always fecund, which might
Mate my hungry soul with a germ of its womb.
I will go out to the night, as a man goes down to the shore
To draw his net through the surf’s thin line, at the dawn before
The sun warms the sea, little, lonely and sad, sifting the sobbing tide.
I will sift the surf that edges the night, with my net, the four
Strands of my eyes and my lips and my hands and my feet, sifting the store
Of flotsam until my soul is tired or satisfied.
I will catch in my eyes’ quick net
The faces of all the women as they go past,
Bend over them with my soul, to cherish the wet
Cheeks and wet hair a moment, saying: “Is it you?”
Looking earnestly under the dark umbrellas, held fast
Against the wind; and if, where the lamplight blew
Its rainy swill about us, she answered me
With a laugh and a merry wildness that it was she
Who was seeking me, and had found me at last to free
Me now from the stunting bonds of my chastity,
How glad I should be!
Moving along in the mysterious ebb of the night
Pass the men whose eyes are shut like anemones in a dark pool;
Why don’t they open with vision and speak to me, what have they in sight?
Why do I wander aimless among them, desirous fool?
I can always linger over the huddled books on the stalls,
Always gladden my amorous fingers with the touch of their leaves,
Always kneel in courtship to the shelves in the doorways, where falls
The shadow, always offer myself to one mistress, who always receives.
But oh, it is not enough, it is all no good.
There is something I want to feel in my running blood,
Something I want to touch; I must hold my face to the rain,
I must hold my face to the wind, and let it explain
Me its life as it hurries in secret.
I will trail my hands again through the drenched, cold leaves
Till my hands are full of the chillness and touch of leaves,
Till at length they induce me to sleep, and to forget.
Scheme | AABAAB CCDCCD EFEGFGHHHHH AIAIJKJK XXLLXKKE |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 101011011101101 111110111011 01011010011000101101 1101101010111 01100010010111111 11101101111 111110110111101 11111011110101 01101101001100101 111011100111101 11110110110111001 1100111110110 11101111 010110101111 110111111001 101101010111 10100100101011 0101011011 11010111101 1010010101111 1110101111111 11101111100 11111 10010001001101 1011111110011 11110110011111101 11110100110101 11110100101101 110110010101111 110110100111 01110111101101 111110111111 1110111101101 10111111111101 1111110101101 1111110010 111110110111 111111010111 1111011110101 |
Closest metre | Iambic heptameter |
Characters | 2,189 |
Words | 435 |
Sentences | 13 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 6, 6, 11, 8, 8 |
Lines Amount | 39 |
Letters per line (avg) | 43 |
Words per line (avg) | 11 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 338 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 86 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 20, 2023
- 2:10 min read
- 82 Views
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"Restlessness" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/7867/restlessness>.
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