Coming Awake
D. H. Lawrence
When I woke, the lake-lights were quivering on the wall, The sunshine swam in a shoal across and across, And a hairy, big bee hung over the primulas In the window, his body black fur, and the sound of him cross. There was something I ought to remember: and yet I did not remember. Why should I? The running lights And the airy primulas, oblivious Of the impending bee—they were fair enough sights.
