The Burning of the Temple
THE BURNING OF THE TEMPLE by ISAAC ROSENBERG
Fierce wrath of Solomon Where sleepest thou? O see The fabric which thou won Earth and ocean to give thee--- O look at the red skies.
Or hath the sun plunged down? What is this molten gold--- These thundering fires blown Through heaven---where the smoke rolled. Again the great king dies.
His dreams go out in smoke, His days he let not pass And sculptured here are broke, Are charred as the burnt grass Gone as his mouth's last sighs.
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|Author||Rosenberg, Isaac (1890-1918)|
|Title||The Burning of the Temple|
|Copyright||The Isaac Rosenberg Literary Estate. Preliminaries and editorial matter omitted.|
|First line||Fierce wrath of Solomon|
|Publication source||The Collected Poems of Isaac Rosenberg|
|Publication editor||Bottomley, Gordon and Harding, Denys|
|Publishers||Chatto Windus Ltd.|
|Digital repository||The First World War Poetry Digital Archive|