Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon

Nothing Is Enough!

No, though our all be spent—
Heart's extremest love,
Spirit's whole intent,
All that nerve can feel,
All that brain invent,—
Still beyond appeal
Will Divine Desire
Yet more excellent
Precious cost require
Of this mortal stuff,—
Never be content
Till ourselves be fire.
Nothing is enough! 

1. The Dead to the Living
2. Now That I Have Won
3. Whitechapel High Road
4. Inheritance
5. Ah, Now This Happy Month Is Gone

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