Returning, We Hear The Larks


Isaac Rosenberg

Sombre the night is.

And though we have our lives, we know

What sinister threat lurks there.

Dragging these anguished limbs, we only know

This poison-blasted track opens on our camp—

On a little safe sleep.

But hark! joy—joy—strange joy.

Lo! heights of night ringing with unseen larks.

Music showering on our upturned listening faces.

Death could drop from the dark

As easily as song—

But song only dropped,

Like a blind man's dreams on the sand

By dangerous tides,

Like a girl's dark hair for she dreams no ruin lies there,

Or her kisses where a serpent hides.


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