Wait Just One Minute More

Returning, We Hear the Larks:

Sombre the night is:

And, though we have our lives, we know

What sinister threat lurks there.

 

Dragging these anguished limbs, we only know

This poison-blasted track opens on our camp—

On a little safe sleep.

 

But hark! Joy—joy—strange joy.

Lo! Heights of night ringing with unseen larks:

Music showering on our upturned listening faces.

 

Death could drop from the dark

As easily as song—

But song only dropped,

Like a blind man's dreams on the sand

By dangerous tides;

Like a girl's dark hair, for she dreams no ruin lies there,

Or her kisses where a serpent hides.

Isaac Rosenberg.