D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). New Poems. 1916.

2. Coming Awake

WHEN I woke, the lake-lights were quivering on the wall,

The sunshine swam in a shoal across and across,

And a hairy, big bee hung over the primulas

In the window, his body black fur, and the sound of him cross.

There was something I ought to remember: and yet

I did not remember. Why should I? The running lights

And the airy primulas, oblivious

Of the impending bee—they were fair enough sights.