Isaac Rosenberg (25 November 1890 – 1 April 1918 / Bristol / England)
Crazed shadows, from no golden body
That I can see, embrace me warm ;
All is purple and closed
Round by night's arm.
A brilliance wings from dark-lit voices,
Wild lost voices of shadows white
See the long houses lean
To the weird flight.
Star amorous things that wake at sleep-time
(Because the sun spreads wide like a tree
With no good fruit for them)
Pale horses ride before the morning,
The secret roots of the sun to tread,
With hoofs shod with venom
And ageless dread;
To breathe on burning emerald grasses
And opalescent dews of the day,
And poison at the core
What smiles may stray.
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