Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon

* * *

Pale are the words I build for my delight
To house in; pale as the chill mist that holds
An ardent morn. My fire to others' sight
But dimly burns through the frail speech it moulds;
I cast but shadows from my inward light.
But, O my Joy, thou understandest well
Both what I can and what I cannot tell.

1. To the Belgians
2. In Memory of George Calderon
3. No More Now with Jealous Complaining
4. Kitchener
5. The Zeppelin

Print

1287 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version