Page:Poems by Isaac Rosenberg (1922).djvu/110



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.