Robert Laurence Binyon Poems

O hush, sweet birds, that linger in lonely song!
Hold in your evening fragrance, wet May--bloom!
...

In the shadow of a broken house,
Down a deserted street,
Propt walls, cold hearths, and phantom stairs,
And the silence of dead feet —
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O my peace, O well
So deep no thought could sound it,
Whence arose thy spell
When in my heart I found it?
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With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
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Time has stored all, but keeps his chronicle
In secret, beyond all our probe or gauge.
There flows the human story, vast and full;
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O you that facing the mirror darkly bright
In the shadowed corner, loiter shyly fond,
To ask of your own sad eyes a comfort slight,
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Behold an endless evening over land
That lapped in vast vales rises up afar
Into the frozen mountains; evening brimmed
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Now December darkens
Over Autumn dead.
The frozen earth now hearkens
For the last leaf to be shed.
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The Genius of an hour that fading day
Resigned to wide--haired Night's impending brow
Stole me apart, I knew not where nor how,
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Magnificent the Beast! Look in the eyes
Of the fell tiger towering on his prey,
Beautiful in his power to pounce and slay
...