Robert Laurence Binyon (Роберт Лоренс Биньон)

* * *

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. Beautifully Dies the Year
2. O World, Be Nobler
3. Go Now, Love
4. Koya San
5. Come Back, Sweet Yesterdays!

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1872

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