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Song: Poem by Isaac Rosenberg

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A silver rose to show
Is your sweet face;
And like the heavens' white brow,
Sometime God's battle-place,
Your blood is quiet now.

Your body is a star
Unto my thought ;
But stars are not too far,
And can be caught-
Small pools their prisons are.

Analysis of this poem
  • music

More verses by Isaac Rosenberg

  • The Burning Of The Temple
  • Sleep
  • A Girls Thoughts
  • Far Away
  • Chagrin

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Poems about...
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  • nature
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  • spring
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