"For the Fallen" is a poem written by Laurence Binyon. It was first published in The Times in September 1914. It was also published in Binyon's book "The Winnowing Fan : Poems On The Great War" by Elkin Mathews, London, 1914.

Over time, the third and fourth stanzas of the poem (usually now just the fourth) have been claimed as a tribute to all casualties of war, regardless of state. This selection of the poem is often taken as an ode that is often recited at Remembrance Day and ANZAC Day services, and is what the term "Ode of Remembrance" usually refers to.

Laurence Binyon (10 August 1869 – 10 March 1943), a British poet, was described as having a "sober" response to the outbreak of World War I, in contrast to the euphoria many others felt (although he signed the "Author's Declaration" that defended British involvement in the war, appearing in The New York Times on 18 September with 54 other British authors—including Thomas Hardy, Arthur Conan Doyle, and H.G. Wells). A week after the war began in 1914, Binyon published his first war poem, "The Fourth of August" in The Times.

On 23 August, in Britain's opening action of World War I on the Western Front, the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) suffered a loss at the Battle of Mons and the subsequent lengthy retreat. The extent of fighting to follow was not revealed as casualties were comparable to past European wars. "For the Fallen" was specifically composed in honour of the casualties of the BEF, written immediately following the retreat from the Battle of Mons.

Binyon composed the original poem 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 East Cliff above Portreath in central North Cornwall which cites that as the place where Binyon composed the poem. It was published in The Times on 21 September 1914, just seven weeks after the beginning of the war.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free. (1–4)

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears. (5–8)

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted:
They fell with their faces to the foe. (9–12)

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them. (13–16)

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam. (17–20)

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night; (21–24)

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain. (25–28)