1 year ago

Poems by Isaac Rosenberg

;: : MOSES Thinking to

;: : MOSES Thinking to end all and let the crane crush me, He came by and bore me into the shade O, what a furnace roaring in his blood Thawed my congealed sinews and tingled my own Raging through me like a strong cordial. He spoke ! Since yesterday Am I not larger grown ? IVe seen men hugely shapen in soul, Of such unhuman shaggy male turbulence They tower in foam miles from our neck-strained sight, And to their shop only heroes come But all were cripples to this speed Constrained to the stables of Mesh. I say there is a famine in ripe harvest When hungry giants come as guests Come knead the hills and ocean into food, There is none for him. The streaming vigours of his blood erupting From his halt tongue are like an anger thrust Out of a madman's piteous craving for A monstrous balked perfection. Old Hebrew He is a prince, an animal Not of our kind ; who perhaps has heard 65 k

—: POEMS BY ISAAC ROSENBERG Vague rumours of our world, to his mind An unpleasant miasma. Young Hkbkkw Is not Miriam his sister, Jochabed his mother ? In the womb he looked round and saw From furthermost stretches our wrong From the palaces and schools Our pain has pierced dead generations Back to his blood's thin source. As we lie chained by Egyptian men He lay in nets of their women, And now rejoices he has broken their meshes. O ! His desires are fleets of treasure He has squandered, in treacherous seas. Sailing mistrust to find frank ports ; He fears our fear and tampers mildly For our assent to let him save us. When he walks amid our toil With some master-mason His tense brows, critical Of the loose enginery, Hint famed devices flat, his rod Scratching new schemes on the sand : But read hard the scrawled lines there Limned turrets and darkness, chinks of light, 66