Poem by Isaac Rosenberg

In Piccadi

Lamp-lit faces, to you
What is your starry dew?
Gold flowers of the night blue!

Deep in wet pavement's slime
Mud-rooted is your fierce prime,
To bloom in lust's coloured clime.

The sheen of eyes that lust,
Which dew-time made your trust,
Lights your passionless dust. 

1. The Nun
2. God
3. A Question
4. Killed in Action
5. First Fruit

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