Isaac Rosenberg (1890-1918) was one of the major literary voices of the First World War, with an artist's gift for telling detail among the grim generalities of trench warfare.

Like other poems quoted this week, this piece can be found in The New Oxford Book of War Poetry (edited by Jon Stallworthy, £16.99).

RETURNING, WE HEAR THE LARKS

Sombre the night is.

And though we have our lives, we know

What sinister threat lurks there.

Dragging these anguished limbs, we only know

This poison-blasted track opens on our camp -

On a little safe sleep.

But hark! Joy - joy - strange joy.

Lo! heights of night ringing with unseen larks.

Music showering our upturned list'ning faces.

Death could drop from the dark

As easily as song -

But song only dropped,

Like a blind man's dreams on the sand

By dangerous tides,

Like a girl's dark hair for she dreams no ruin lies there,

Or her kisses where a serpent hides.

1917