by Robert Laurence Binyon
Why hurt so hard by little pricks,
By chasing cares so clouded over,
Heart of mine?
Holding what no storm can unfix
Nor time corrupt, O tender lover!
In you so deep a fountain springs
Of faith and joy beyond all speech,
O happy heart!
How should those meanly thwarting things
Men do, the petty creeds they preach,
In you have part?
It is because, my heart replies,
There is such beauty to adore
Within, for ever,--
Because I dwell in paradise,
That the world's chafing is a sore,
A fret, a fever.
Were there no fountain welling strong
In me, no vision heavenly--rare
Before my eyes,
There'd be for me no world of wrong
Without, lamenting to compare
Last updated January 14, 2019