David Herbert Lawrence

Here you will find the Poem Kangaroo of poet David Herbert Lawrence


Delicate mother Kangaroo 
Sitting up there rabbit-wise, but huge, plump-weighted, 
And lifting her beautiful slender face, oh! so much more 
gently and finely lined than a rabbit's, or than a hare's, 
Lifting her face to nibble at a round white peppermint drop 
which she loves, sensitive mother Kangaroo. 

Her sensitive, long, pure-bred face. 
Her full antipodal eyes, so dark, 
So big and quiet and remote, having watched so many 
empty dawns in silent Australia. 

Her little loose hands, and drooping Victorian shoulders. 
And then her great weight below the waist, her vast pale belly, 
With a thin young yellow little paw hanging out, and 
straggle of a long thin ear, like ribbon, 
Like a funny trimming to the middle of her belly, thin 
little dangle of an immature paw, and one thin ear. 

Her belly, her big haunches 
And, in addition, the great muscular python-stretch of her tail. 

There, she shan't have any more peppermint drops. 
So she wistfully, sensitively sniffs the air, and then turns, 
goes off in slow sad leaps 
On the long flat skis of her legs, 
Steered and propelled by that steel-strong snake of a tail. 

Stops again, half turns, inquisitive to look back. 
While something stirs quickly in her belly, and a lean little 
face comes out, as from a window, 
Peaked and a bit dismayed, 
Only to disappear again quickly away from the sight of the 
world, to snuggle down in the warmth, 
Leaving the trail of a different paw hanging out. 

Still she watches with eternal, cocked wistfulness! 
How full her eyes are, like the full, fathomless, shining 
eyes of an Australian black-boy 
Who has been lost so many centuries on the margins of 
She watches with insatiable wistfulness. 
Untold centuries of watching for something to come, 
For a new signal from life, in that silent lost land of the 

Where nothing bites but insects and snakes and the sun, 
small life. 
Where no bull roared, no cow ever lowed, no stag cried, 
no leopard screeched, no lion coughed, no dog barked, 
But all was silent save for parrots occasionally, in the 
haunted blue bush. 

Wistfully watching, with wonderful liquid eyes. 
And all her weight, all her blood, dropping sackwise down 
towards the earth's centre, 
And the live little-one taking in its paw at the door of her