Isaac Rosenberg: Returning, We Hear the Larks

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 listening 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.
***

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