Page:Poems by Isaac Rosenberg (1922).djvu/114



Wan, fragile faces of joy, Pitiful mouths that strive To light with smiles the place We dream we walk alive,

To you I stretch my hands, Hands shut in pitiless trance In a land of ruin and woe, The desolate land of France.

Dear faces startled and shaken, Out of wild dust and sounds You yearn to me, lure and sadden My heart with futile bounds.