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Robert Laurence Binyon - Orphans Of Flanders
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Where is the land that fathered, nourished, poured
 The sap of a strong race into your veins,
 Land of wide tilth, of farms and granaries stored,
 Of old towers chiming over peaceful plains?

 It is become a vision, barred away
 Like light in cloud, a memory and belief.
 On those lost plains the Glory of yesterday
 Builds her dark towers for the bells of Grief.

 It is become a splendour--circled name
 For all the world; a torch against the skies
 Burns on that blood--spot, the unpardoned shame
 Of them that conquered: but your homeless eyes

 See rather some brown pond by a white wall,
 Red cattle crowding in the rutty lane,
 A garden where the hollyhocks were tall
 In the Augusts that shall never be again.

 There your thoughts cling as the long--thrusting root
 Clings in the ground; your orphaned hearts are there.
 O mates of sunburnt earth, your love is mute
 But strong like thirst and deeper than despair.

 You have endured what pity can but grope
 To feel: into that darkness enters none.
 We have but hands to help; yours is the hope
 Whose courage rises silent with the sun.
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