First World War Poetry Digital Archive

Returning, we hear the larks

RETURNING, WE HEAR THE LARKS by ISAAC ROSENBERG

Sombre the night is. And though we have our lives, we know What sinister threat lurks 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 on 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.

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