The bread that's broken when we eat together <br />Tastes sweet. A sunbeam stealing to your hand <br />Seems as if spilled from something brimming over <br />Within me, wanting no word, or itself <br />The word I wanted! Find we not our own <br />Language in winds, fresh from a golden place, <br />When breasting the high down at last we turn <br />To each other, bright with rapturous escape, <br />And the hills sing together, like our hearts, <br />Lost in the light! Between us, as we walk <br />Green roadsides, under homely hedgerow elms <br />Of summer leaf, silences are as water <br />Smooth for the sail and shining to the verge, <br />But intimate as a hand's touch when we pace <br />Long crowded pavements amber--lamped in dusk <br />That holds its dark breath over the gay talk, <br />Bright eyes, and grief buried in moving sound. <br />There is a secret colour that has dyed <br />The world within our hearts: none knows it else, <br />No more than that which thickens the flushed light <br />Deep in the foxglove's honey--throat; it is there <br />In the midst of light speech and forgetfulness, <br />In the empty house of absence, where the walls <br />Echo other voices; it is in the midst <br />Of the unsaid fears the mind plots forts against, <br />In the dragging thought and drizzle of blank care, <br />The daily doing of what must be done; <br />Then suddenly it glows and bathes us like the sun.<br /><br />Robert Laurence Binyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/companions-9/
