Where is the land that fathered, nourished, poured <br />The sap of a strong race into your veins, <br />Land of wide tilth, of farms and granaries stored, <br />Of old towers chiming over peaceful plains? <br /> <br />It is become a vision, barred away <br />Like light in cloud, a memory and belief. <br />On those lost plains the Glory of yesterday <br />Builds her dark towers for the bells of Grief. <br /> <br />It is become a splendour--circled name <br />For all the world; a torch against the skies <br />Burns on that blood--spot, the unpardoned shame <br />Of them that conquered: but your homeless eyes <br /> <br />See rather some brown pond by a white wall, <br />Red cattle crowding in the rutty lane, <br />A garden where the hollyhocks were tall <br />In the Augusts that shall never be again. <br /> <br />There your thoughts cling as the long--thrusting root <br />Clings in the ground; your orphaned hearts are there. <br />O mates of sunburnt earth, your love is mute <br />But strong like thirst and deeper than despair. <br /> <br />You have endured what pity can but grope <br />To feel: into that darkness enters none. <br />We have but hands to help; yours is the hope <br />Whose courage rises silent with the sun.<br /><br />Robert Laurence Binyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/orphans-of-flanders/
