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Robert Laurence Binyon - Angered ReasonRobert Laurence Binyon - Angered Reason
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Angered Reason walked with me A street so squat, unshapen, bald, So blear--windowed and grimy--walled, So dismal--doored, it seemed to be The abortion of a mind that had Nor wit nor will to make, but left Its impotence in image, reft Of even the means of seeming glad. And there, like never--ripened fruit, Unsunned and starved, were human lives In joyless, neighbour--dreading hives Of care, with half their senses mute. It pressed on me, that patient street, It hurt me that it housed my kind: It was so abject and resigned And so deformed, I hated it. The stars that flowered above grew bright; The evening filled with wondrous blue; The lampshine glistened in the dew; The gliding trams were ships of light. And through my rebel heart there ran The want of things not bought or sold; The spirit free to make and mould; The naked glory of a man. And fevered I began to build A city, like the body, worth The natural happiness of earth, And with this folk its streets I filled, No more from widest joy exiled Nor helpless in a caging net. Suddenly by a lamp I met A woman carrying her child. I stopped the building of my dream: For there was all the future`s book Written in that enfolding look, And there the never--ending theme, And there the builder of the strong City of men`s desire; but there Also the shadow of the snare And the corruption and the wrong. Ah, now I doubted of my thought That could so easily perfect Wishes in dream, and raise the wrecked, And make all noble as it wrought. Those mother`s eyes, absorbed, unknown, Had made my vision wan and thin. There was a harder world to win From flesh and blood than wood and stone. O now of those, life`s prisoners, none, Soiled, soured, or hardened, but had speech To me of secret wonder; each Was once so wonderful to one! Yet she that bears the pang, and hears The first young cry and stills its want, And can with her vast hope enchant The promise of betraying years,-- Who should have beauty`s best but she To whom a son is given? That street Of life`s denial and defeat Stood in my mind, accusing me.
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