Author Robert Laurence Binyon Peace is perfect over All the hills. Scarce wilt thou discover A breath, so still's Every tree. The woods are silent; birds have hushed their song. Wait but thou; ere long Peace comes to thee. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Reviews Post review No reviews yet. Log in or register to post comments