Isaac Rosenberg

(25 November 1890 – 1 April 1918 / Bristol / England)

Isaac Rosenberg Poems

1. Don Juans Song 4/28/2012
2. Hearts First Word. Ii 4/28/2012
3. O, In A World Of Men And Women 4/28/2012
4. Tess 4/28/2012
5. On A Lady Singing 4/28/2012
6. In Piccadi 4/28/2012
7. The Nun 4/28/2012
8. The One Lost 4/28/2012
9. Hearts First Word. I. 4/28/2012
10. Isolation : A Fragment 4/28/2012
11. My Days 4/28/2012
12. First Fruit 4/28/2012
13. A Mood 4/28/2012
14. Song 4/28/2012
15. The Burning Of The Temple 4/28/2012
16. In The Underworld 4/28/2012
17. Far Away 4/28/2012
18. A Girls Thoughts 4/28/2012
19. Chagrin 4/28/2012
20. Dawn 4/28/2012
21. Expression 4/28/2012
22. A Ballad Of Whitechapel 4/28/2012
23. In War 4/28/2012
24. If You Are Fire 4/28/2012
25. The Destruction Of Jerusalem By The Babylonian Hordes 4/28/2012
26. The Blind God 4/28/2012
27. Killed In Action 4/28/2012
28. Home-Thoughts From France 4/28/2012
29. Spring, 1916 4/28/2012
30. Daughters Of War 4/28/2012
31. The Dying Soldier 4/28/2012
32. From Night And Day 4/28/2012
33. Zion 4/28/2012
34. The Female God 4/28/2012
35. Sleep 4/28/2012
36. Wedded 4/28/2012
37. Beauty 4/28/2012
38. A Careless Heart 4/28/2012
39. A Question 4/28/2012
40. Girl To A Soldier On Leave 4/12/2010
Best Poem of Isaac Rosenberg

Dead Man's Dump

The plunging limbers over the shattered track
Racketed with their rusty freight,
Stuck out like many crowns of thorns,
And the rusty stakes like sceptres old
To stay the flood of brutish men
Upon our brothers dear.

The wheels lurched over sprawled dead
But pained them not, though their bones crunched,
Their shut mouths made no moan.
They lie there huddled, friend and foeman,
Man born of man, and born of woman,
And shells go crying over them
From night till night and now.

Earth has waited for them,
All the time of their growth
Fretting for ...

Read the full of Dead Man's Dump

Louse Hunting

Nudes -- stark and glistening,
Yelling in lurid glee. Grinning faces
And raging limbs
Whirl over the floor one fire.
For a shirt verminously busy
Yon soldier tore from his throat, with oaths
Godhead might shrink at, but not the lice.
And soon the shirt was aflare
Over the candle he'd lit while we lay.

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