Poem by Isaac Rosenberg

* * *

Through these pale cold days
What dark faces burn
Out of three thousand years,
And their wild eyes yearn,

While underneath their brows
Like waifs their spirits grope
For the pools of Hebron again--
For Lebanon's summer slope.

They leave these blond still days
In dust behind their tread
They see with living eyes
How long they have been dead. 

1. The Nun
2. God
3. A Girls Thoughts
4. A Question
5. Sleep

Print

2403 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version