Liaison
A BIG bud of moon hangs out of the twilight,Star-spiders spinning their threadHang high suspended, withouten respiteWatching us overhead.
Come then under the trees, where the leaf-clothsCurtain us in so darkThat here we're safe from even the ermin-moth'sFlitting remark.
Here in this swarthy, secret tent,Where black boughs flap the ground,You shall draw the thorn from my discontent,Surgeon me sound.
This rare, rich night! For in hereUnder the yew-tree tentThe darkness is loveliest where I could searYou like frankincense into scent.
Here not even the stars can spy us,Not even the white moths writeWith their little pale signs on the wall, to try usAnd set us affright.
Kiss but then the dust from off my lips,But draw the turgid painFrom my breast to your bosom, eclipseMy soul again.
Waste me not, I beg you, wasteNot the inner night:Taste, oh taste and let me tasteThe core of delight.
Words in this poem
- flitting n.
- A flying with lightness and celerity; a fluttering.
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Liaison is in the public domain. This text is taken from Amores: Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #22531; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: D. H. Lawrence, Liaison, in Amores (1916), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #22531, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/lawrence-amores/liaison.html, id L13580.
Form and metre
Liaison is 28 lines in 7 stanzas of 4 lines each. Every stanza rhymes ABAB. 92% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.5 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 50% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABAB twilightA · threadB · respiteA · overheadB
- 2 ABAB clothsA · darkB · moth'sA · remarkB
- 3 ABAB tentA · groundB · discontentA · soundB
- 4 ABAB hereA · tentB · searA · scentB
- 5 ABAB usA · writeB · usA · affrightB
- 6 ABAB lipsA · painB · eclipseA · againB
- 7 ABAB wasteA · nightB · tasteA · delightB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| A BIG bud of moon hangs out of the twilight, | 11 | ·········/· |
| Star-spiders spinning their thread | 7 | ·/˘/˘·· |
| Hang high suspended, withouten respite | 10 | ··˘/˘˘/˘/˘ |
| Watching us overhead. | 6 | /˘·/˘/ |
| Come then under the trees, where the leaf-cloths | 10 | ·········· |
| Curtain us in so dark | 6 | /˘···· |
| That here we're safe from even the ermin-moth's | 10 | ·····/·/˘· |
| Flitting remark. | 4 | /˘˘/ |
| Here in this swarthy, secret tent, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Where black boughs flap the ground, | 6 | ······ |
| You shall draw the thorn from my discontent, | 10 | ·······˘˘/ |
| Surgeon me sound. | 4 | /˘·· |
| This rare, rich night! For in here | 7 | ······· |
| Under the yew-tree tent | 6 | ······ |
| The darkness is loveliest where I could sear | 11 | ·/˘········ |
| You like frankincense into scent. | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| Here not even the stars can spy us, | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| Not even the white moths write | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| With their little pale signs on the wall, to try us | 12 | ··/˘········ |
| And set us affright. | 5 | ···˘/ |
| Kiss but then the dust from off my lips, | 9 | ········· |
| But draw the turgid pain | 6 | ···/˘· |
| From my breast to your bosom, eclipse | 9 | ·····/˘˘/ |
| My soul again. | 4 | ··˘/ |
| Waste me not, I beg you, waste | 7 | ······· |
| Not the inner night: | 5 | ··/˘· |
| Taste, oh taste and let me taste | 7 | ······· |
| The core of delight. | 5 | ···˘/ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.