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—:<br />
POEMS BY ISAAC ROSENBERG<br />
Vague rumours of our world, to his mind<br />
An unpleasant miasma.<br />
Young Hkbkkw<br />
Is not Miriam his sister, Jochabed his mother ?<br />
In the womb he looked round and saw<br />
From furthermost stretches our wrong<br />
From the palaces and schools<br />
Our pain has pierced dead generations<br />
Back to his blood's thin source.<br />
As we lie chained <strong>by</strong> Egyptian men<br />
He lay in nets of their women,<br />
And now rejoices he has broken their meshes.<br />
O ! His desires are fleets of treasure<br />
He has squandered, in treacherous seas.<br />
Sailing mistrust to find frank ports ;<br />
He fears our fear and tampers mildly<br />
For our assent to let him save us.<br />
When he walks amid our toil<br />
With some master-mason<br />
His tense brows, critical<br />
Of the loose enginery,<br />
Hint famed devices flat, his rod<br />
Scratching new schemes on the sand :<br />
But read hard the scrawled lines there<br />
Limned turrets and darkness, chinks of light,<br />
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