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Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon The Woods Entry So old is the wood, so old, Old as Fear. Wrinkled roots; great stems; hushed leaves; No sound near. Shadows retreat into shadow, Deepening, crossed. Burning light singles a low leaf, a bough, Far within, lost. Robert Laurence Binyon Robert Laurence Binyon's other poems: ![]() 1195 Views |
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