---

Robert Laurence Binyon - The Way Home
Work rating: Low

Many dreams I have dreamed
 That are all now gone.
 The world, mirrored in a dark pool,
 How unearthly it shone!

 But now I have comfort
 From the things that are,
 Nor shrink too ashamed from the self
 That to self is bare.

 More than soft clouds of leaf
 I like the stark form
 Of the tree standing up without mask
 In stillness and storm,

 Poverty in the grain,
 Warp, gnarl, exposed,
 Nothing of nature`s fault or the years`
 Slow injury glozed.

 From the thing that is
 My comfort is come.
 Wind washes the plain road:
 This is the way home.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.