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Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon


Ypres


She was a city of patience; of proud name,
Dimmed by neglecting Time; of beauty and loss;
Of acquiescence in the creeping moss.
But on a sudden fierce destruction came
Tigerishly pouncing: thunderbolt and flame
Showered on her streets, to shatter them and toss
Her ancient towers to ashes. Riven across,
She rose, dead, into never-dying fame.
White against heavens of storm, a ghost, she is known
To the world's ends. The myriads of the brave
Sleep round her. Desolately glorified,
She, moon-like, draws her own far-moving tide
Of sorrow and memory; toward her, each alone,
Glide the dark dreams that seek an English grave.



Robert Laurence Binyon


Robert Laurence Binyon's other poems:
  1. To the Belgians
  2. Edith Cavell
  3. In Memory of George Calderon
  4. The Zeppelin
  5. No More Now with Jealous Complaining


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