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Robert Laurence Binyon - Sonnet: Ypres
Work rating: Medium

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.
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