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Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon


Little Hands


Soft little hands that stray and clutch,
Like fern fronds curl and uncurl bold,
While baby faces lie in such
Close sleep as flowers at night that fold,
What is it you would, clasp and hold,
Wandering outstretched with wilful touch?
O fingers small of shell-tipped rose,
How should you know you hold so much?
Two full hearts beating you inclose,
Hopes, fears, prayers, longings, joys and woes, -
All yours to hold, O little hands!
More, more than wisdom understands
And love, love only knows. 



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. Ypres


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