Returning, We Hear the Larks

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.

—1917