by Robert Laurence Binyon
When I am weary, thronged with the cares of the vain day
That tease as harsh winds tease the unresting autumn boughs,
I still my mind at evening and put all else away
But the image of my Love, where all my hopes I house.
The thoughts of her fall gently as the gentleness of snow.
That after storm makes smoothness in the ways that are rough;
White with a hush of beauty over my heart they grow
To the peace of which my heart can never hold enough.
Last updated January 14, 2019