Pale are the words I build for my delight
To house in; pale as the chill mist that holds
An ardent morn. My fire to others' sight
But dimly burns through the frail speech it moulds;
I cast but shadows from my inward light.
But, O my Joy, thou understandest well
Both what I can and what I cannot tell.
More verses by Robert Laurence Binyon
- The Shrines Of Old Are Broken Down
- The Sun Goes Down, On Other Lands To Shine
- Vision Of Peace, Joy Without Stain
- What Shall I Say To Thee, My Spirit, So Soon Dejected
- A Colliquy