1A snake came to my water-trough
2On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
3To drink there.
4In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
5I came down the steps with my pitcher
6And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before me.
7He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
8And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough
9And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
10And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
11He sipped with his straight mouth,
12Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
13Silently.
14Someone was before me at my water-trough,
15And I, like a second-comer, waiting.
16He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
17And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
18And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
19And stooped and drank a little more,
20Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
21On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
22The voice of my education said to me
23He must be killed,
24For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.
25And voices in me said, If you were a man
26You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.
27But must I confess how I liked him,
28How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
29And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
30Into the burning bowels of this earth?
31Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?
32Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?
33Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
34I felt so honoured.
35And yet those voices:
36If you were not afraid, you would kill him.
37And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,
38But even so, honoured still more
39That he should seek my hospitality
40From out the dark door of the secret earth.
41He drank enough
42And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
43And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
44Seeming to lick his lips,
45And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
46And slowly turned his head,
47And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
48Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
49And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.
50And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
51And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
52A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
53Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
54Overcame me now his back was turned.
55I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
56I picked up a clumsy log
57And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.
58I think it did not hit him,
59But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in an undignified haste,
60Writhed like lightning, and was gone
61Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
62At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.
63And immediately I regretted it.
64I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
65I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.
66And I thought of the albatross,
67And I wished he would come back, my snake.
68For he seemed to me again like a king,
69Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
70Now due to be crowned again.
71And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
72Of life.
73And I have something to expiate:
74A pettiness.
1A snake came to my water-trough
2On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
3To drink there.
4In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
5I came down the steps with my pitcher
6And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before me.
7He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
8And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough
9And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
10And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
11He sipped with his straight mouth,
12Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
13Silently.
14Someone was before me at my water-trough,
15And I, like a second-comer, waiting.
16He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
17And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
18And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
19And stooped and drank a little more,
20Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
21On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
22The voice of my education said to me
23He must be killed,
24For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.
25And voices in me said, If you were a man
26You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.
27But must I confess how I liked him,
28How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
29And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
30Into the burning bowels of this earth?
31Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?
32Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?
33Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
34I felt so honoured.
35And yet those voices:
36If you were not afraid, you would kill him.
37And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,
38But even so, honoured still more
39That he should seek my hospitality
40From out the dark door of the secret earth.
41He drank enough
42And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
43And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
44Seeming to lick his lips,
45And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
46And slowly turned his head,
47And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
48Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
49And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.
50And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
51And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
52A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
53Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
54Overcame me now his back was turned.
55I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
56I picked up a clumsy log
57And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.
58I think it did not hit him,
59But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in an undignified haste,
60Writhed like lightning, and was gone
61Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
62At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.
63And immediately I regretted it.
64I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
65I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.
66And I thought of the albatross,
67And I wished he would come back, my snake.
68For he seemed to me again like a king,
69Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
70Now due to be crowned again.
71And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
72Of life.
73And I have something to expiate:
74A pettiness.
A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before me.
He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.
Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second-comer, waiting.
He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.
And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.
But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?
Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?
Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?
Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.
And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would kill him.
And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,
But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.
He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.
And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.
I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.
I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in an undignified haste,
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.
And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.
And I thought of the albatross,
And I wished he would come back, my snake.
For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.
And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to a reading of "Snake."
More About Lawrence — A summary of D. H. Lawrence's life and career at Encyclopedia Britannica.
The Poet's Life and Work — A biography of Lawrence at the Poetry Foundation.
The Poem in Context — Read the poem as it appeared in the original (1923) edition of Birds, Beasts and Flowers.
The Snake? — Pictures of the asp, or asp viper, a likely candidate for the type of snake described in Lawrence's poem.