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Robert Laurence Binyon - England’s Poet
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To other voices, other majesties,
 Removed this while, Peace shall resort again.
 But he was with us in our darkest pain
 And stormiest hour: his faith royally dyes
 The colours of our cause; his voice replies
 To all our doubt, dear spirit! heart and vein
 Of England`s old adventure! his proud strain
 Rose from our earth to the sea--breathing skies.

 Even over chaos and the murdering roar
 Comes that world--winning music, whose full stops
 Sounded all man, the bestial and divine;
 Terrible as thunder, fresh as April drops.
 He stands, he speaks, the soul--transfigured sign
 Of all our story, on the English shore.
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