In D. H. Lawrence’s “A Young Wife,” the speaker is overwhelmed by a love that feels almost too painful to bear. Her husband seems to carry darkness with him: when he looks at her, night enters his eyes, and suddenly she cannot see the sun the same way. Every bright thing—trees, flowers, a skylark—now has a shadow at its base, and she senses death quietly “seething” beneath all that glow and movement. She longs to sing and dance, but the shadows hold her gaze, as if loving him has made her too aware of mortality to enjoy simple pleasures. The mood is haunting and uneasy, full of beauty laced with dread. The repeated line—“The pain of loving you / Is almost more than I can bear”—makes the poem feel like a restless confession, circling back to the same ache.
A Young Wife — Summary
The pain of loving you Is almost more than I can bear.
I walk in fear of you. The darkness starts up where You stand, and the night comes through Your eyes when you look at me.
Ah never before did I see The shadows that live in the sun!
Now every tall glad tree Turns round its back to the sun And looks down on the ground, to see The shadow it used to shun.
At the foot of each glowing thing A night lies looking up.
Oh, and I want to sing And dance, but I can't lift up My eyes from the shadows: dark They lie spilt round the cup.
What is it?--Hark The faint fine seethe in the air!
Like the seething sound in a shell! It is death still seething where The wild-flower shakes its bell And the sky lark twinkles blue--
The pain of loving you Is almost more than I can bear.