by Robert Laurence Binyon
I want a thousand things to--night;
The bonds of earth are strict and strong;
Yet glory were a vain delight
Did you not sing within my song.
Hungers, despairs, and victories,
All the world's glories and alarms,
Forget their wound and find their prize
But on your lips, but in your arms.
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Last updated January 14, 2019