Page:Poems by Isaac Rosenberg (1922).djvu/195



Caught still as Absalom, Surely the air hangs From the swayless cloud-boughs Like hair of Absalom Caught and hanging still.

From the imagined weight Of spaces in a sky Of mute chagrin my thoughts Hang like branch-clung hair To trunks of silence swung, With the choked soul weighing down Into thick emptiness. Christ, end this hanging death, For endlessness hangs therefrom!

Invisibly branches break From invisible trees: The cloud-woods where we rush (Our eyes holding so much),