Page:Tortoises, DH Lawrence, 1921.djvu/30

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To be a tortoise! Think of it, in a garden of inert clods A brisk, brindled little tortoise, all to himself— Croesus!

In a garden of pebbles and insects To roam, and feel the slow heart beat Tortoise-wise, the first bell sounding From the warm blood, in the dark-creation morning.

Moving, and being himself, Slow, and unquestioned, And inordinately there, O stoic! Wandering in the slow triumph of his own exist- ence, Ringing the soundless bell of his presence in    chaos, And biting the frail grass arrogantly, Decidedly arrogantly. Rh