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Robert Laurence Binyon - Nature
Work rating: Low

Because out of corruption burns the rose,
 And to corruption lovely cheeks descend;
 Because with her right hand she heals the woes
 Her left hand wrought, loth nor to wound nor mend;

 I praise indifferent Nature, affable
 To all philosophies, of each unknown;
 Though in my listening ear she leans to tell
 Some private word, as if for me alone.

 Still, like an artist, she her meaning hides,
 Silent, while thousand tongues proclaim it clear;
 Ungrudging, her large feast for all provides;
 Tender, exultant, savage, blithe, austere,

 In each man`s hand she sets its proper tool,
 For the wise, wisdom, folly for the fool.
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