1 year ago

Poems by Isaac Rosenberg

Touch —: POEMS BY

Touch —: POEMS BY ISAAC ROSENBERG I am sick of priests and forms, This rigid dry- boned refinement As ladies 1 perfumes are Obnoxious to stern natures, This miasma of a rotting god Is to me. Who has made of the forest a park ? Who has changed the wolf to a do

MOSES Is not this song still sung in the streets of me ? A naked African Walked in the sun Singing—singing Of his wild love. I slew the tiger With your young strength (My tawny panther) Rolled round my life. Three sheep, your breasts And my head between, Grazing together On a smooth slope. 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 ? What were the use if my sight grew And its far branches were cloud -hung, 61