Robert Laurence Binyon: Всі вірші поета

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For The Fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

England mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,

There is music in the midst of desolation

And a glory that shines upon our tears.

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Robert Laurence Binyon

Hunger

I come among the peoples like a shadow.

I sit down by each man's side.

None sees me, but they look on one another,

And know that I am there.

My silence is like the silence of the tide

That buries the playground of children;

Like the deepening of frost in the slow night,

When birds are dead in the morning.

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Robert Laurence Binyon

The Fourth Of August

Now in thy splendour go before us.

Spirit of England, ardent-eyed,

Enkindle this dear earth that bore us

In the hour of peril purified.

The cares we hugged drop out of vision,

Our hearts with deeper thought dilate,

We step from days of sour division

Into the grandeur of our fate.

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Robert Laurence Binyon

The Burning Of The Leaves

Now is the time for the burning of the leaves.

They go to the fire; the nostril pricks with smoke

Wandering slowly into a weeping mist.

Brittle and blotched, ragged and rotten sheaves!

A flame seizes the smouldering ruin and bites

On stubborn stalks that crackle as they resist.

The last hollyhock's fallen tower is dust;

115

Robert Laurence Binyon

Sonnet: Ypres

She was a city of patience; of proud name,

Dimmed by neglecting Time; of beauty and loss;

Of acquiescence in the creeping moss.

But on a sudden fierce destruction came

Tigerishly pouncing: thunderbolt and flame

Showered on her streets, to shatter them and toss

Her ancient towers to ashes. Riven across,

She rose, dead, into never-dying fame.

121

Robert Laurence Binyon

A Glimpse Of Time

In the shadow of a broken house,

Down a deserted street,

Propt walls, cold hearths, and phantom stairs,

And the silence of dead feet —

Locked wildly in one another's arms

I saw two lovers meet.

And over that hearthless house aghast

Rose from the mind's abyss

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Robert Laurence Binyon

Edith Cavell

She was binding the wounds of her enemies when they came—

The lint in her hand unrolled.

They battered the door with their rifle-butts, crashed it in:

She faced them gentle and bold.

They haled her before the judges where they sat

In their places, helmet on head.

With question and menace the judges assailed her, “Yes,

143

Robert Laurence Binyon

In The High Leaves Of A Walnut

In the high leaves of a walnut,

On the very topmost boughs,

A boy that climbed the branching bole

His cradled limbs would house.

On the airy bed that rocked him

Long, idle hours he'd lie

Alone with white clouds sailing

The warm blue of the sky.

134

Robert Laurence Binyon

"A child in nature, as a child in years"

A child in nature, as a child in years,

If on past hours she turn remembering eyes,

She but beholds sweet joys or gentle tears,

Flower hiding flower in her pure memories.

So flower--like, so lovely do they seem:

Too fair to be let die, they fade too fast;

Not like that hopeless beauty, which in dream

Is ever present, but to say 'tis past.

142

Robert Laurence Binyon

" No more now with jealous complaining"

No more now with jealous complaining

Shall you be vext; nor I with fears

Torture my heart: my heart is secure now,

And laughs at follies of former tears.

No more now with the endless paining

Of idle desires shall Day distress;

Nor Night, from passionate envy pure now,

With insupportable loneliness.

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Robert Laurence Binyon

" Do kings put faith in fortressed walls, and bar"

Do kings put faith in fortressed walls, and bar

Their cities' gates, as strong to keep out war?

The constancy of friends is stronger far.

Are lilies pure, that in some vale unknown

Unplucked have blossomed and unpraised have blown?

The constancy of friends is purer.

The constancy of friends is lovelier

Than fame or fortune; past all riches dear;

137

Robert Laurence Binyon

A Song

For Mercy, Courage, Kindness, Mirth,

There is no measure upon earth.

Nay, they wither, root and stem,

If an end be set to them.

Overbrim and overflow,

If you own heart you would know;

For the spirit born to bless

137

Robert Laurence Binyon