Returning, We Hear the Larks

[osprey_archer]

I must apologize, this journal seems to have transmuted into a World War I poetry archive, it would clearly be more useful for my current project if it was a Civil War poetry archive, but HERE WE ARE, walking back to camp with Isaac Rosenberg when birdsong rises from the dark poison-blasted night.

Returning, We Hear the Larks
by Isaac Rosenberg

Somber 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 showing 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.