Isaac Rosenberg: Все стихи поэта | Poetree

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The Troop Ship

The Troop Ship

Grotesque and queerly huddled

Contortionists to twist

The sleepy soul to a sleep,

We lie all sorts of ways

And cannot sleep.

The wet wind is so cold,

And the lurching men so careless,

That, should you drop to a doze,

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Isaac Rosenberg

Girl To A Soldier On leave

Girl To A Soldier On leave

Girl To A Soldier On Leave

Love! You love me — your eyes

Have looked through death at mine.

You have tempted a grave too much

I let you — I repine.

I love you - Titan lover,

My own storm-days Titan.

Greater than the son of Zeus,

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Isaac Rosenberg

'Ah, Koelue '

'Ah, Koelue '

Ah, Koelue!

Had you embalmed your beauty, so

It could not backward go,

Or change in any way,

What were the use, if on my eyes

The embalming spices were not laid

To keep us fixed,

Two amorous sculptures passioned endlessly?

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Isaac Rosenberg

Soldier: Twentieth Century

Soldier: Twentieth Century

I love you, great new Titan!

Am I not you?

Napoleon or Caesar

Out of you grew.

Out of the unthinkable torture,

Eyes kissed by death,

Won back to the world again,

Lost and won in a breath,

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Isaac Rosenberg

‘A worm fed on the heart of Corinth'

‘A worm fed on the heart of Corinth'

A worm fed on the heart of Corinth,

Babylon and Rome:

Not Paris raped tall Helen,

But this incestuous worm,

Who lured her vivid beauty

To his amorphous sleep.

England! Famous as Helen

Is thy betrothal sung

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Isaac Rosenberg

Marching (As Seen From the Left File)

Marching (As Seen From the Left File)

My eyes catch ruddy necks

Sturdily pressed back -

All a red brick moving glint.

Like flaming pendulums, hands

Swing across the khaki -

Mustard-coloured khaki -

To the automatic feet.

We husband the ancient glory

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Isaac Rosenberg

Of Any Old Man

Of Any Old Man

Wreck not the ageing heart of quietness,

With alien uproar and rude jolly cries,

Which satyr like to a mild maidens pride,

Ripens not wisdom, but a large recoil,

Give them their withered peace, their trial grave,

Their old youth's three-scored shadowy effigy,

Mock them not with your ripened turbulence,

Their frost mailed petulance with your torrid wrath,

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Isaac Rosenberg

Through These Pale Cold Days

Through These Pale Cold Days

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.

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Isaac Rosenberg

August 1914

August 1914

What in our lives is burnt

In the fire of this?

The heart’s dear granary?

The much we shall miss?

Three lives hath one life –

Iron, honey, gold.

The gold, the honey gone –

Left is the hard and cold.

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Isaac Rosenberg

The Jew

The Jew

Moses, from whose loins I sprung,

Lit by a lamp in his blood

Ten immutable rules, a moon

For mutable lampless men.

The blonde, the bronze, the ruddy,

With the same heaving blood,

Keep tide to the moon of Moses.

Then why do they sneer at me?

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Isaac Rosenberg

Spring

Spring

I walk and wonder

To hear the birds sing,

Without you my lady

How can there be Spring?

I see the pink blossoms

That slept for a year;

But who could have woke them,

While you were not near?

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Isaac Rosenberg

In the Trenches

In the Trenches

I snatched two poppies

From the parapet’s ledge,

Two bright red poppies

That winked on the ledge.

Behind my ear

I stuck one through,

One blood red poppy

I gave to you.

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Isaac Rosenberg