Isaac Rosenberg Poems
|42.||Girl To A Soldier On Leave||4/12/2010|
|44.||Of Any Old Man||4/12/2010|
|46.||Marching (As Seen From The Left File)||4/12/2010|
|47.||Soldier: Twentieth Century||4/12/2010|
|48.||‘a Worm Fed On The Heart Of Corinth'||4/12/2010|
|49.||The Troop Ship||4/12/2010|
|51.||On Receiving News Of The War||1/3/2003|
|56.||In The Trenches||1/3/2003|
|57.||Returning, We Hear The Larks||1/3/2003|
|58.||Through These Pale Cold Days||1/3/2003|
|59.||Dead Man's Dump||1/3/2003|
|60.||Break Of Day In The Trenches||1/3/2003|
Comments about Isaac Rosenberg
Break Of Day In The Trenches
The darkness crumbles away
It is the same old druid Time as ever,
Only a live thing leaps my hand,
A queer sardonic rat,
As I pull the parapet's poppy
To stick behind my ear.
Droll rat, they would shoot you if they knew
Your cosmopolitan sympathies,
Now you have touched this English hand
You will do the same to a German
Soon, no doubt, if it be your pleasure
To cross the sleeping green between.
It seems you inwardly grin as you pass
Strong eyes, fine limbs, haughty athletes,
Less chanced than you for life,
Bonds to the whims of murder, ...
Nudes -- stark and glistening,
Yelling in lurid glee. Grinning faces
And raging limbs
Whirl over the floor one fire.
For a shirt verminously busy
Yon soldier tore from his throat, with oaths
Godhead might shrink at, but not the lice.
And soon the shirt was aflare
Over the candle he'd lit while we lay.