Marching
I
Isaac Rosenberg
0
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(As seen from the left file). My eyes catch ruddy necks Sturdily pressed back— All a red-brick moving glint. Like flaming pendulums, hands Swing across the khaki— Mustard-coloured khaki— To the automatic feet. We husband the ancient glory In these bared necks and hands. Not broke is the forge of Mars; But a subtler brain beats iron To shoe the hoofs of death (Who paws dynamic air now). Blind fingers loose an iron cloud To rain immortal darkness On strong eyes.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
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