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Returning We Hear the Larks

Sombre the night is.

And though we have our lives, we

What sinister threat lies there.

Dragging these anguished limbs, we only

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

As easily as song -But song only dropped,

Like a blind man’s dreams on the

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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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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