AUGUST 1914 by ISAAC ROSENBERG
What in our lives is burnt In the fire of this? The heart's dear granary? The much we shall miss?
Three lives hath one life--- Iron, honey, gold. The gold, the honey gone--- Left is the hard and cold.
Iron are our lives Molten right through our youth. A burnt space through ripe fields, A fair mouth's broken tooth.
|Author||Rosenberg, Isaac (1890-1918)|
|Copyright||The Isaac Rosenberg Literary Estate. Preliminaries and editorial matter omitted.|
|Digital repository||The First World War Poetry Digital Archive|