Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon

* * *

Now that I have won
Long despaired of peace,
And those fears are flown
That vext so my heart's ease;

Shall I wish my love
Had found a path more smooth,
With no thorns to prove
Its constancy and truth?

Wish those nights not spent,
Long, unhappy nights,
Which in sighings went
Over lost delights?

Wish those tears unwept,
When you seemed unkind?
Nay; for these pangs kept
Love steadfast in my mind.

Out of these he came
Stronger, tenderer; tried
As with burning flame;
Proved and purified.

Not in vain I shook
With those tears and sighs,
If now Love may look
Out of Faith's clear eyes.

Now may my tired head
On your breast repose,
By your heart comforted,
Which it trusts and knows.

1. The Dead to the Living
2. Inheritance
3. Whitechapel High Road
4. Ah, Now This Happy Month Is Gone
5. Flame and Snow

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