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 mastery 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 cosy 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. 

                                                                                  ---------D. H. LAWRENCE

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