For Mercy, Courage, Kindness, Mirth, There is no measure upon earth. Nay, they wither, root and stem, If an end be set to them.…
Robert Binyon is well known as one of the First World War Poets who produced significant pieces of work that are remembered to this day. His most famous poem, For the Fallen, was written in the early days of the war, in September 1914. Four lines from it are quoted at every Remembrance Day service across the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth countries and begin with the words: The complete text of this moving poem is reproduced below. As well as being a renowned poet, Binyon was also an expert on Far East art and, in fact, wrote the first book ever seen in a European language on this subject. It was called Painting in the Far East and was published in 1908. Born in August 1869, Robert Laurence Binyon was the son of a Quaker clergyman in the Lancashire city of Lancaster. He was sent to school in London and from St Paul’s school moved on to Trinity College, Oxford. His writing was so well regarded here that he won the Newdigate Prize for Poetry. He then spent a number of years working at the British Museum, firstly in the Department of Printed Books and then, so that he could enhance his knowledge of art, he transferred to the Department of Prints and Drawings. Such was the depth of his knowledge that he became a respected authority on Oriental Art. He was only 25 when his first book of poetry was published. The collection was called Lyric Poetry. During the early years of the 20th century Binyon spent much of his time fraternising with fellow intellectuals, poets and artists such as Ezra Pound, Walter Sickert and Edmund Dulac at the Wiener Café in London. When war broke out he was too old to fight but volunteered to serve with the Red Cross and spent time at the Front during 1916. Binyon was deeply moved by the horrors that he witnessed and the loss of life and wrote a number of poems which were published as a collection in 1919 called The Four Years. It was a mixture of fine poems depicting the traumas on the “home front”, such as The Zeppelin, The Witnesses and The Bereaved along with the aforementioned For the Fallen, Guns at the Front, The Arras Road and Dark Wind which were all about life and death on the front line. Binyon also dabbled in verse plays and one of them was performed at the Old Vic theatre in London, in 1923. It was about the legend of King Arthur and he called it simply Arthur. During the last ten years of his life he worked on the laborious translation of one of Dante’s great works – Divinia Comedia – which was reviewed favourably by critics. He lectured at a variety of worldwide locations and held professorships at universities in the United States and Greece. Here is Binyon’s famous poem For the Fallen. The verse that is recited at Remembrance Day services, and is often inscribed on monuments to the those who died in battle, is highlighted in bold: Laurence Binyon died in March 1943, aged 73.
Laurence Binyon şiirleri
Gross, with protruding ears, Sleek hair, brisk glance, fleshy and yet alert, Red, full, and satisfied, Cased in obtuseness confident not to be hurt,…
She was binding the wounds of her enemies when they came— The lint in her hand unrolled. They battered the door with their rifle-butts, crashed it in: She faced them gentle and bol…
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In the high leaves of a walnut, On the very topmost boughs, A boy that climbed the branching bole His cradled limbs would house.…
In the shadow of a broken house, Down a deserted street, Propt walls, cold hearths, and phantom stairs, And the silence of dead feet —…
COME then, as ever, like the wind at morning! Joyous, O Youth, in the aged world renew Freshness to feel the eternities around it, Rain, stars and clouds, light and the sacred dew.…
A far look in absorbed eyes, unaware Of what some gazer thrills to gather there; A happy voice, singing to itself apart, That pulses new blood through a listener's heart;…
There are five men in the moonlight That by their shadows stand; Three hobble humped on crutches, And two lack each a hand.…
No, though our all be spent-- Heart's extremest love, Spirit's whole intent, All that nerve can feel,…
Trefoil and Quatrefoil! What shaped those destinied small silent leaves Or numbered them under the soil? I lift my dazzled sight…
O WORLD, be nobler, for her sake! If she but knew thee what thou art, What wrongs are borne, what deeds are done In thee, beneath thy daily sun,…
For Mercy, Courage, Kindness, Mirth, There is no measure upon earth. Nay, they wither, root and stem, If an end be set to them.…
Burned from the ore’s rejected dross, The iron whitens in the heat. With plangent strokes of pain and loss The hammers on the iron beat.…
Away, sad thoughts, and teasing Perplexities, away! Let other blood go freezing, We will be wise and gay.…
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