Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon

* * *

Ah, now this happy month is gone,
Not now, my heart, complain,
Nor rail at Time because so soon
He takes his own again.

He takes his own, the weeks, the hours,
But leaves the best with thee;
Seeds of imperishable flowers
In fields of memory.

1. One Year Old
2. A Picture Seen in a Dream
3. Beautifully Dies the Year
4. The Way Home
5. The Winds of All the World

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