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. One Year Old
2. Men of Verdun
3. The Way Home
4. Beautifully Dies the Year
5. As in the Dusty Lane to Fern or Flower

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1958

Последние стихотворения

To English version