Isaac Rosenberg

Returning, We Hear the Larks

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.

Listen to this poem

Read by Martin Geeson · Source: Librivox.org

About the poet

Isaac RosenbergIsaac Rosenberg

By the same poet
On Receiving the First News of the War
Break of Day in the Trenches
August 1914
Dead Man’s Dump
Louse Hunting
Related books
Isaac Rosenberg at amazon.co.uk