POEM For The Fallen by Laurence Binyon



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The “Ode of Remembrance” is an ode taken from Laurence Binyon’s poem, “For the Fallen”, which was first published in The Times in September 1914.
The poet wrote For the Fallen, which has seven stanzas, while sitting on the cliffs between Pentire Point and The Rumps in north Cornwall, UK. A stone plaque was erected at the spot in 2001 to commemorate the fact. The plaque bears the inscription:
For the Fallen
Composed on these cliffs 1914
There is also a plaque on the beehive monument on the East Cliff above Portreath in central North Cornwall which cites that as the place where Binyon composed the poem. A plaque on a statue dedicated to the fallen in Valleta, Malta is also inscribed with these words.

The poem honoured the World War I British war dead of that time, and in particular the British Expeditionary Force, which by then already had high casualty rates on the developing Western Front. The poem was published when the Battle of the Marne was foremost in people’s minds.
War memorial in ChristChurch Cathedral, Christchurch, NZ

Over time, the third and fourth stanzas of the poem (although often just the fourth)[1] were claimed as a tribute to all casualties of war, regardless of state.
seehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/For_the_Fallen
Sir William Rothenstein, Walter Sickert, Charles Ricketts, Lucien Pissarro and Edmund Dulac
seehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laurence_Binyon
Ode Of Remembrance (Published Work),Laurence Binyon,World War I (Event),1914,War Poem,war poems,English Literature (Award Discipline)

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Fahad Hameed

Fahad Hashmi is one of the known Software Engineer and blogger likes to blog about design resources. He is passionate about collecting the awe-inspiring design tools, to help designers.He blogs only for Designers & Photographers.

11 thoughts on “POEM For The Fallen by Laurence Binyon

  • September 2, 2017 at 5:15 am
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    War Is

    War is a stormy night, with roaring lightning and lavish snow, In a once bright morning filled with blooming flowers and gushing sunshine. In the storm we went, to find even the slightest bit of light, through the thick clouds we travel, with no relief in sight. Lightning strikes, through the thunder, the fire is spreading, all around us the wind is screaming. The monster of a storm was unmerciful consuming everything within its path. Through the memories of my mind, the events of the storm will be an everlasting trait of time.

    that is my own poem

    Reply
  • September 2, 2017 at 5:15 am
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    What a touching poem! It brought a tear to mye eye. We shall not forget those who fought for our freedom. They will be remembered forever and always

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  • September 2, 2017 at 5:15 am
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    Never forget, respect from a Kurdish German of Russian descent.

    For every Kurdish fallens for freedom!

    Reply
  • September 2, 2017 at 5:15 am
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    I have been lucky enough to stand at the Menin Gate in Ypres when the ceremony is performed at 8pm local time. Traffic stops, silence falls, the Last Post is sounded on a trumpet; the lines from: 'They shall not…. to … we shall remember them.' are spoken, Reveille is sounded and the crowd disperses. It is one of the most moving experiences I have had in my life.

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  • September 2, 2017 at 5:15 am
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    “He fell in October 1918, on a day that was so quiet and still on the whole front, that the army report confined itself to the single sentence: All quiet on the Western Front. He had fallen forward and lay on the earth as though sleeping. Turning him over one saw that he could not have suffered long; his face had an expression of calm, as though almost glad the end had come.”
    ― Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front

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  • September 2, 2017 at 5:15 am
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    You may want to change the picture from one of Russian Czarist troops to Tommy or Commonwealth troops.  

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  • September 2, 2017 at 5:15 am
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    Do not stand at my grave and weepI am not there. I do not sleep.I am a thousand winds that blow.I am the diamond glints on snow.I am the sunlight on ripened grain.I am the gentle autumn rain.When you awaken in the morning’s hushI am the swift uplifting rushOf quiet birds in circled flight.I am the soft stars that shine at night.Do not stand at my grave and cry;I am not there. I did not die.

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