Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WEST COUNTREE, by GEOFFREY DENNIS First Line: Now england is a fine countree Last Line: Of the blessed west countree. Subject(s): Devonshire, England; England; Oxford University; English | ||||||||
NOW England is a fine countree, And finer there is none, Under the pale white moon when she Covers the earth with mystery Or under the broad bright sun. And England is a wide countree With many a place and shire By lake, by lea, by land, by sea -- But the best of all is the West Countree: The land of my desire. Of the North Countree you hear them tell; They say that it is grand. I've climbed the rugged king Sca-Fell, The gaunt Great Gable steep as hell; The Cheshire dell, the North Sea swell, The wild York moors -- I know them well. So I can understand. The Midlands and the South Countree; They say that they are good. I've travelled far them all to see: The London street, the Shropshire lea, The Chilterns dark with many a tree, The Wrekin, Sussex by the sea .... So I have understood. But finer far is the West Countree Woo'd by the swift Atlantic With winds instead of words, you see, And great sweet splendid waves, you see, As kisses fierce and frantic. The land that is best is the land in the west, By the western waters swirled, With the red sweet stag of wild Exmoor And the red heathed combes that slope to the shore, The purple heather of old Dartmoor And the silent splendour of lone Yes Tor, The waters' meet at the great sea's door Of Torridge and Tawe at Appledore, The swift tempestuous ocean roar On Westward Ho, -- and oh, much more! -- The west best land in the world. Now somebody came and said to me: "You do not England know. 'Tis not this paltry little isle With acres few and weather vile, Ah no," they said, with a smile, "That is not England. No!" But I'm tired of the British Empire That stalks the whole world o'er, -- The tiresome sun that never sets, The crowing over fall'n De Wets (Like Prussian soldiers after Metz): I've heard it all before. Not the Empire, but this England Is the one true land for me, The homeland, kingland, The land I see, The best of which is the ling-land, -- The West Countree. * * * * One thing I ask of Heaven: A very little gold, That I may go to Devon And live there till I'm old. And when my day is over I pray that I may die Near to the western clover, Under the western sky, Near the sound of waves that sunder, Of winds that triumph free, And the tempest-note of thunder Of the trumpets of the sea, -- And all the holy wonder Of the blessed West Countree. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NINETEEN FORTY by NORMAN DUBIE GHOSTS IN ENGLAND by ROBINSON JEFFERS STAYING UP FOR ENGLAND by LIAM RECTOR STONE AND FLOWER by KENNETH REXROTH THE HANGED MAN by KENNETH REXROTH ENGLISH TRAIN COMPARTMENT by JOHN UPDIKE A SONG OF THE HILLS AND MY FRIEND by GEOFFREY DENNIS |
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