In the Trenches I snatched two poppies From the parapet's ledge, Two bright red poppies That winked on the ledge. Behind my ear I stuck one through, One blood red poppy I gave to you. Smashed you lie. My eyes catch ruddy necks Sturdily pressed back - All a red brick moving glint. We husband the ancient glory In these bared necks and hands.
Blind fingers loose an iron cloud To rain immortal darkness On strong eyes.
In May 1916 Isaac Rosenberg embarked for France, travelling in the standard troop ship across the English Channel. The poem gives a stark account of conditions on- board for the lower ranks. It was sent to Harriet Monroe in October 1916 along with 'Break of Day in the Trenches'. The Troop Ship Grotesque and queerly huddled Contortionists to twist The sleepy soul to a sleep, We lie all sorts of ways And cannot sleep. That, should you drop to a doze, Winds' fumble or men's feet Are on your face.