Post by Tommy Huynh on Jan 24, 2006 12:02:41 GMT -5
Piano
By D.H. Lawrence
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the
tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who
smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious master of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cozy parlour, the tinkling piano
our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child
for the past.
I very much like this poem, I found it in my English textbook. It was an assignment but it’s much more than an assignment to me. When I read this poem, I become pensive, I think of my grandmother, and all the times that I spent with her. Playing at the swingset, how she read me bedtime stories, sing me lullabies.
What are your thoughts towards this poem?
By D.H. Lawrence
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the
tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who
smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious master of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cozy parlour, the tinkling piano
our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child
for the past.
I very much like this poem, I found it in my English textbook. It was an assignment but it’s much more than an assignment to me. When I read this poem, I become pensive, I think of my grandmother, and all the times that I spent with her. Playing at the swingset, how she read me bedtime stories, sing me lullabies.
What are your thoughts towards this poem?
