Returning, We Hear the Larks

Sombre the night is. 
And though we have our lives, we know 
What sinister threat lies 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 our upturned list’ning 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. 

Isaac Rosenberg in the Poetry Store

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