Robert Laurence Binyon
Robert Laurence Binyon (10 August 1869 at Lancaster – 10 March 1943 at Reading, Berkshire) was an English poet, dramatist, and art scholar. His most famous work, For the Fallen, is well known for being used in Remembrance Sunday services.
Moved by the opening of the Great War and the already high number of casualties of the British Expeditionary Force, in 1914 Laurence Binyon wrote his For the Fallen, with its Ode of Remembrance, as he was visiting the cliffs of northern Cornwall (where a plaque commemorates it nowadays.) The piece was published by The Times newspaper in September, when public feeling was affected by the recent Battle of Marne.
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Robert Laurence Binyon Poems
For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea.
It is early morning within this room; without, Dark and damp; without and within, stillness Waiting for day: not a sound but a listening air.
A Glimpse Of Time
In the shadow of a broken house, Down a deserted street, Propt walls, cold hearths, and phantom stairs, And the silence of dead feet —
In The High Leaves Of A Walnut
In the high leaves of a walnut, On the very topmost boughs, A boy that climbed the branching bole His cradled limbs would house.
O you that facing the mirror darkly bright In the shadowed corner, loiter shyly fond, To ask of your own sad eyes a comfort slight,
A Secret Place
O my peace, O well So deep no thought could sound it, Whence arose thy spell When in my heart I found it?
Pure--throated Flower, Smelling of Spring, Shaped beyond art's Imagining;
Airmen From Overseas
Who are these that come from the ends of the oceans, Coming as the swallows come out of the South
O Thou who seekest me Through the day's heartless hurry and uproar, Who followest me to my thought's farthest shore--
Who are these that meet At random in the street? Adversaries! Yet they Make no sign nor stay.
Behold an endless evening over land That lapped in vast vales rises up afar Into the frozen mountains; evening brimmed
A Picture Seen In A Dream
I saw the Goddess of the Evening pause Between two mountain pillars. Tall as they Appeared her stature, and her outstretched hands
A Prayer Of Time
Move onward, Time, and bring us sooner free From this self--clouding turmoil where we ply On others' errands driven continually:
A Mother’s Song
Over fast--closed baby eyes In the garden's golden air Blossom--white the butterflies Hover, hurry, part and pair,
Comments about Robert Laurence Binyon
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe. ...