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Robert Laurence Binyon - Companions
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The bread that`s broken when we eat together
 Tastes sweet. A sunbeam stealing to your hand
 Seems as if spilled from something brimming over
 Within me, wanting no word, or itself
 The word I wanted! Find we not our own
 Language in winds, fresh from a golden place,
 When breasting the high down at last we turn
 To each other, bright with rapturous escape,
 And the hills sing together, like our hearts,
 Lost in the light! Between us, as we walk
 Green roadsides, under homely hedgerow elms
 Of summer leaf, silences are as water
 Smooth for the sail and shining to the verge,
 But intimate as a hand`s touch when we pace
 Long crowded pavements amber--lamped in dusk
 That holds its dark breath over the gay talk,
 Bright eyes, and grief buried in moving sound.
 There is a secret colour that has dyed
 The world within our hearts: none knows it else,
 No more than that which thickens the flushed light
 Deep in the foxglove`s honey--throat; it is there
 In the midst of light speech and forgetfulness,
 In the empty house of absence, where the walls
 Echo other voices; it is in the midst
 Of the unsaid fears the mind plots forts against,
 In the dragging thought and drizzle of blank care,
 The daily doing of what must be done;
 Then suddenly it glows and bathes us like the sun.
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