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Robert Laurence Binyon - A Daffodil
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Pure--throated Flower,
 Smelling of Spring,
 Shaped beyond art`s
 Imagining;

 Fathomless colour,
 Breathed as an ether
 Of flame and of stillness
 Melted together;

 Soul of the sun`s beam
 Changed to fairy
 Flesh, so delicate,
 Poised and airy!

 I think of my own kind,
 Hardly winning
 A thousand battles
 For joy`s beginning;

 Victory bloody
 And with evil shared,
 Splendour soiled
 And greatness snared;

 Truth conceded
 Or won by halves,
 Pitiful sores
 And sorrier salves;

 Blind authority
 Treading like oxen`s heels
 All that sees clearest,
 All that most feels.

 But you are absolute
 (Follow who can!)
 As a commandment
 Of God to man.

 Straight you spring
 And whole you spend,
 And fall upon fruitful earth,
 Clean to the end.

 O to be pure
 As a single sense,
 Keen as scorn,
 As love intense,

 To live in the light,
 And to die in a deed
 That is faith`s Amen
 And has sown its seed!
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