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Poem by Isaac Rosenberg
The Burning of the Temple
Fierce wrath of Solomon, Where sleepest thou? 0 see, The fabric which thou won Earth and ocean to give thee- 0 look at the red skies. Or hath the sun plunged down? What is this molten gold- These thundering fires blown Through heaven, where the smoke rolled? Again the great king dies. His dreams go out in smoke. His days he let not pass And sculptured here are broke, Are charred as the burnt grass, Gone as his mouth's last sighs.
Isaac Rosenberg's other poems:
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