Robert Laurence Binyon

On the Hills

Drinking wide, sunny wind,
Hand within hand,
We look from hill to hill
Of our own land.

Hand within hand, we remember
Without speech,
And hour upon hour comes about us;
We number them each.

O little far clouds that swim
In the round of blue,
Are you bringing those hours again,
Shining in you?

You melt into air, drop on earth,
Sucked up in the light,
And again you appear, in the blue
You are born, you are bright,

As those hours live in us, nay beyond;
When we die, they shall still
Lift our hearts up, as now we uplift
Our hearts on the hill. 

English Poetry - E-mail