Isaac Rosenberg

(25 November 1890 – 1 April 1918 / Bristol / England)

Isaac Rosenberg Poems

1. Don Juans Song 4/28/2012
2. Hearts First Word. Ii 4/28/2012
3. O, In A World Of Men And Women 4/28/2012
4. Tess 4/28/2012
5. Wedded 4/28/2012
6. The Nun 4/28/2012
7. On A Lady Singing 4/28/2012
8. In Piccadi 4/28/2012
9. Hearts First Word. I. 4/28/2012
10. The One Lost 4/28/2012
11. Zion 4/28/2012
12. A Question 4/28/2012
13. My Days 4/28/2012
14. First Fruit 4/28/2012
15. Isolation : A Fragment 4/28/2012
16. Song 4/28/2012
17. The Female God 4/28/2012
18. The Burning Of The Temple 4/28/2012
19. A Mood 4/28/2012
20. A Girls Thoughts 4/28/2012
21. Far Away 4/28/2012
22. Chagrin 4/28/2012
23. In The Underworld 4/28/2012
24. Sleep 4/28/2012
25. If You Are Fire 4/28/2012
26. In War 4/28/2012
27. The Destruction Of Jerusalem By The Babylonian Hordes 4/28/2012
28. Dawn 4/28/2012
29. Expression 4/28/2012
30. A Ballad Of Whitechapel 4/28/2012
31. Home-Thoughts From France 4/28/2012
32. Killed In Action 4/28/2012
33. The Blind God 4/28/2012
34. Spring, 1916 4/28/2012
35. Daughters Of War 4/28/2012
36. The Dying Soldier 4/28/2012
37. From Night And Day 4/28/2012
38. Beauty 4/28/2012
39. A Careless Heart 4/28/2012
40. Girl To A Soldier On Leave 4/12/2010
Best Poem of Isaac Rosenberg

Dead Man's Dump

The plunging limbers over the shattered track
Racketed with their rusty freight,
Stuck out like many crowns of thorns,
And the rusty stakes like sceptres old
To stay the flood of brutish men
Upon our brothers dear.

The wheels lurched over sprawled dead
But pained them not, though their bones crunched,
Their shut mouths made no moan.
They lie there huddled, friend and foeman,
Man born of man, and born of woman,
And shells go crying over them
From night till night and now.

Earth has waited for them,
All the time of their growth
Fretting for ...

Read the full of Dead Man's Dump

Dead Man's Dump

The plunging limbers over the shattered track
Racketed with their rusty freight,
Stuck out like many crowns of thorns,
And the rusty stakes like sceptres old
To stay the flood of brutish men
Upon our brothers dear.

The wheels lurched over sprawled dead
But pained them not, though their bones crunched,

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