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Poems by Isaac Rosenberg

—: : MOSES Throb with

—: : MOSES Throb with a wilder pulse : No delicate flame shall quail With terror at your convulse. Thin branches whip the white skies To lips and spaces of song That chant a mood to my eyes. . . . Ah ! Sleep can be overlong. Moses Voices thunder, voices ot deeds not done Lo, on the air are scrawled in abysmal light Old myths never known and yet already forgone, And songs more lost, more secret than desert light Martyrdoms of uncreated things, Virgin silences waiting a breaking voice As in a womb they cry, in a cage beat vain wings Under life, over life : is their unbeing my choice ? Dull wine of torpor—the unsoldered spirit lies Ah ! limp. If she would run into a mould, Some new idea unwalled To human by-ways, an apocalyptic camp Of utterest and ulterior dreaming, Understood only in its gleaming, To flash stark naked the whole girth of the world. 59

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

Redcliffe Voice Issue 6 Summer 2018