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Robert Laurence Binyon - The Things That Grow
Work rating: Low

It was nothing but a little neglected garden,
 Laurel--screened, and hushed in a hot stillness;
 An old pear--tree, and flowers mingled with weeds.
 Yet as I came to it all unawares, it seemed
 Charged with mystery; and I stopped, intruding,
 Fearful of hurting that so absorbed stillness.
 For I was tingling with the wind`s salty splendour,
 And still my senses moved with the keel`s buoyance
 Out on the water, where strong light was shivered
 Into a dance dazzling as drops of flame.
 The rocking radiance and the winged sail`s lifting
 And the noise of the rush of the water left behind
 Sang to my body of movement, victory, joy.
 But here the light was asleep, and green, green
 In a veined leaf it glowed among the shadows.
 A hollyhock rose to the sun and bathed its flowers
 Luminously clustered in the unmoving air;
 A butterfly lazily winked its gorgeous wings;
 Marigolds burned intently amid the grass;
 The ripening pears hung each with a rounded shadow:
 All beyond was drowned in the indolent blueness;
 And at my feet, like a word of an unknown tongue,
 Was the midnight--dark bloom of the delicate pansy.
 Suddenly these things awed my heart, as if here
 In perishing blossom and springing shoot were a power
 Greater than shipwrecking winds and all wild waters.
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