1 мин

On Receiving News of the War

Snow is a strange white word.

No ice or

Has asked of bud or

For Winter's cost.

Yet ice and frost and

From earth to

This Summer land doth know.

No man knows why.

In all men's hearts it is.

Some spirit

Hath turned with malign

Our lives to mould.

Red fangs have torn His face.

God's blood is shed.

He mourns from His lone

His children dead.

O! ancient crimson curse!

Corrode, consume.

Give back this

Its pristine bloom.

This poem was written in Cape Town in 1914.

Rosenberg had gone their to visit his sister in June 1914.

He returned to England and to enlist the following year.


Isaac Rosenberg

Isaac Rosenberg (25 November 1890 – 1 April 1918) was an English poet and artist. His Poems from the Trenches are recognized as some of the most…

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