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Poems by Isaac Rosenberg

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—:<br />

:<br />

MOSES<br />

Throb with a wilder pulse :<br />

No delicate flame shall quail<br />

With terror at your convulse.<br />

Thin branches whip the white skies<br />

To lips and spaces of song<br />

That chant a mood to my eyes. . . .<br />

Ah ! Sleep can be overlong.<br />

Moses<br />

Voices thunder, voices ot deeds not done<br />

Lo, on the air are scrawled in a<strong>by</strong>smal light<br />

Old myths never known and yet already forgone,<br />

And songs more lost, more secret than desert light<br />

Martyrdoms of uncreated things,<br />

Virgin silences waiting a breaking voice<br />

As in a womb they cry, in a cage beat vain wings<br />

Under life, over life : is their unbeing my choice ?<br />

Dull wine of torpor—the unsoldered spirit lies<br />

Ah !<br />

limp.<br />

If she would run into a mould,<br />

Some new idea unwalled<br />

To human <strong>by</strong>-ways, an apocalyptic camp<br />

Of utterest and ulterior dreaming,<br />

Understood only in its gleaming,<br />

To flash stark naked the whole girth of the world.<br />

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